


bear and bull

by inheritor



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 51,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritor/pseuds/inheritor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider is a jaded stockbroker. His perfect neighbor: quiet, mindful, and not an idiot. His actual neighbor: John Egbert. He spends his days hating John's guts until slowly, slowly, he falls in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. also, cupcakes

Dave lived in a roomy apartment. The refrigerator worked, the shower didn’t leak, and breathless solicitors had to climb the harrowing flights of stairs. It was a good apartment. There was only one catch.

He had a door in the middle of his wall.

It wasn’t a bad door. Creamy color, wooden structure, panel door. The door remained as a remnant from some old family from some old time, but it lead to the neighboring apartment. He didn’t need more room, and his one friend (sister, librarian, smirks too much, wears black lipstick and purple cardigans, twenty cats) had her own apartment closer to her work. After a painful afternoon of sorting things out with the landlord, who had an infinite closet of striped shirts, he finally agreed to get a neighbor. He left the landlord with a deliberate list of the qualities he wanted in this neighbor.

1\. Quiet  
2\. Minds his own business  
3\. Not a complete jackass

So he got John Egbert.

The knocking on the door began early in the morning, in the annoying shave and a haircut beat, and he opened his front door, expecting it to be solicitors he could shoo away with no little problem. Instead, he got a pie unceremoniously shoved into his chest, and a man standing there with a bag of boxed baked goods, grinning up at him.

“Hi! I’m your new neighbor. I got you apple pie, because my dad always said you should get your neighbors cake, but I figured you might be a pie guy. Also, cupcakes. Can I come in?”

Dave was already saying no when his new neighbor barged in, setting the food on top of the counter.

“Your place is real nice! You really fixed it up. Anyway, I’m John Egbert, and I’m going to be living next door to you. You know we have a door together? You’re free to come in, any time, any day. I mean, you can borrow a cup of sugar or something. Or you could just drop by and visit!” John took his hand and shook it up and down, grin spreading on his face. Dave tried to artfully extract his hand, but the grip was annoyingly strong, and he gritted his teeth in endurance.

“Never going to happen,” he said, wiggling his fingers to try and feel the tips. “I’d prefer if we left that door locked. Forever. Archaeologists find door and it’s still locked, shit closed up tighter than an asshole clench, that type of sphincter lock.”

“Good one. What’s your name?”

“Dave, and it’s not—”

“Hi, Dave. Do you like cupcakes? I brought like a thousand cupcakes.”

Dave wasn’t a fan of cupcakes, but he was too busy massaging his hand for blood circulation to correct him. He stood there in his bathrobe and pajama pants, seething at him for ruining his day. But seething never got him anywhere, and John happily opened the box of cupcakes.

“Your place is real nice,” John said, piling out the fifth cupcake onto his shiny counter. “You work in technology or something?”

“No,” Dave mumbled, drawing his thin bathrobe closer to his sides. “Stocks.” But for once, he could follow John’s logic. He might not understand the need for a meet and greet with the neighbors, but technology did flourish in his apartment. He had a mounted high definition television, a closed case full of games, surround sound, and swaths of wires peeking through behind his cases. He was suddenly embarrassed at how lived-in his apartment appeared. The couch was decidedly lumpy with obvious ass prints and an empty chips bag sat on top of his coffee table. He didn’t want his annoying neighbor to get the idea that he was some sort of weirdo who only left the apartment for work.

Except that he really was some sort of weirdo who only left the apartment for work.

“So you do math?” John had built a small architectural foundation with the cupcakes, licking the frosting off his fingers.

“Yeah, I trade huge amounts of money everyday and work with a fluctuating market. So yeah, ‘math.’”

“Cool.” John sucked his finger, glancing over to the swords over his television set. “Are those real?”

“They’re real.” He was seized with a striking image of John holding one, dropping it on his foot, and bleeding all over his apartment. “Don’t touch them.”

“I’m not going to touch them! Don’t worry, I respect personal boundaries.” John turned to open his refrigerator, stepping back. “What happened to your food?”

“That is my food.” It was a good amount of food. He had a half-eaten bowl of cereal inside. His cabinets were filled with cereal and chips, and he couldn’t quite fathom what was wrong with that. But apparently the high and mighty John had a problem, shaking his head, making small tsking sounds, and stuffing the pie and cupcakes into the empty shelves.

“That’s it, I’m bringing you dinner tonight.”

“I work late.”

“I’ll put it in the refrigerator! Don’t worry, Dave, we’re gonna be great friends.”

“No.”

“Anyway, speaking of work, I should get going. My lab needs me! Or it doesn’t, but I need my lab. Is there anything I need to know about this place? You can give me the inside scoop.”

“I don’t know,” Dave said, raking his fingers through his hair and distracted by the horror of the door constantly swinging open. “The stairs are—You know, I don’t want you to poke your nose around here. It’d be annoying as hell. I could seal off the door with plaster or duct tape or whatever the hell people use to seal up doors, and I’d pay for it. All expense trip to staying in your own place.”

“I won’t snoop! I get it, math stuff is secret stuff. I will just put stuff in your kitchen! Okay, I really gotta go, but! I will see you later.” John waved, collecting his bags and opening the door in the middle of the wall. Dave caught a glimpse of Nick Cage’s gloomy face on a poster hanging in the apartment, and several boxes that were still unpacked, before John closed the door. He stood there, gripping his sides and seething.

He finally had to start getting dressed for work, throwing his clothes haphazardly on the bed and pulling on his suit. He had enough money to get a nicer place. He should move. That was the only option, to move far, far away from this place and this neighbor who turned out to be a loud, intrusive jackass. His frustration left his tie more frazzled than usual and his suitcase banged against the table.

It was on the elevator that he began to call Rose. He never took the stairs, which were notoriously small and slippery. The elevator wasn’t much better with the thousand reflective mirror surfaces. He stared at his drawn and pale face with his mouth twisted in a grimace, as he listened to Rose’s reprimanding answering machine.

“I’m moving,” he told the machine. “Soon. I got an annoying as hell neighbor and I can afford a cabin in the middle of the woods. Yeah, he’s that annoying. His name is John and he can’t keep his grubby paws to himself. He’s the most annoying thing I’ve ever met. Call me back, unless you’re busy. If you’re busy, call me back quicker.”

When he came home late at night, he found a heap of lasagna wrapped in plastic in the refrigerator. A post-it note sat on top, a blue smiley face drawn on top. He dumped it in the trash, then the cupcakes for good measure. He ate the apple pie, stabbing his fork into the tin as he watched late late late night television, chewing and seething.

\--

The third morning, he was woken up by a water gun streaming in his face.

The fifth morning, a pie slammed into his face when he was leaving for work, and he had to change his suit. He was still finding lemon meringue cream in his hair, flecks of it sticking to the corner of his shades, all throughout the day.

The second week, he opened the refrigerator and thousands of coiled paper snakes sprang upon him with an ancient wrath previously reserved for Indiana Jones movies.

The third week, he had devised up at least five perfect ways to make John’s untimely demise look like an accident.

“So my lab assistant was like, science and ghosts don’t go together, and I was like, kinda, except you have to remember Ghostbusters, but that’s the exception to the rule? Like it’s all those weird hocus pocus stuff, mostly, but it’s interesting to kinda think about it. Theoretically, if it did go together, and it wasn’t a buncha bull, how it would’ve turned out. But right now, most ghost science is bull.”

“Hate to break this inflammatory nerd-out, but don’t you have work?” Dave was still in his suit, jacket hanging on the chair and his sleeves rolled up, and scrubbing away the glitter on his briefcase. Another joyful prank from his joyful parasite, who was sitting at his kitchen table and eating the breakfast he had brought over. Toast, poached eggs, and a side of sausages. Even Dave gave in and had eaten a bit of that.

“Not today! I might go out to visit my sister later. She works at the museums of plants ‘n stuff, sometimes she brings me plants ‘n stuff.” That would explain John’s balcony. Dave didn’t bother to wander outside too much on his own balcony, but when he did, he could always look over and see John’s balcony covered in a forest.

“You have a sister, too, right?” John stuck his fork in his mouth, glancing over to the few picture frames scattered around the apartment. Dave had cultivated the sophisticated sleek look to his place, with the exception of the spots that he actually used, but the magazine cut-outs had all shown picture frames for interior designing. He put them up. Most of them were his own work, shots of crow shadows and close-ups of park benches. But a few had him and his sister, her eyes always knowing.

“Yeah. A real flighty broad.”

“She looks nice.”

“She’s not nice at all. The second worst person in this city.” The first, of course, his good neighbor. “She lives with her girlfriend not far from here.”

“Lucky, I always have to take twenty trains just to get to Jade.”

He assumed Jade was his sister’s name, but he didn’t bother to ask him. If he asked, he might give the impression that he was genuinely interested, and he was genuinely not. He scrubbed at the glitter, fingers already wrinkling under the water, and tried to ignore the fact that his neighbor was swinging his legs underneath his kitchen table. He already knew more about John than he ever needed to know. John Egbert plays the piano, enjoys watching sports, laughs hard enough to snort milk out of his nose at corniest joke, way too into bad movies, had a Nick Cage boner visible from satellites.

“You have a girlfriend?” John asked, breaking him from his seething thoughts.

“No.” And he ate enough shit with Rose’s knowing looks. So what if he was old and single, he wasn’t particularly lonely. The people who had sex with his mother on Xbox were more than enough friends for him.

“I don’t, either. We should go to a dating thing sometime. Like a mixer? It might be fun.”

“Those things are hellholes of vapid singles who just don’t want to go to bed alone.” Dave toweled off his briefcase. “Mixers are where hope goes to die.”

“Or where hope goes to live! Like on an incubator. I will keep an eye out on mixers in the local area. Actually, I am still pretty new to this neighborhood. Which grocery store is the best, you think? I like the one across the street, but it doesn’t seem too fresh.”

“I don’t go out.” Dave dropped into a seat by his table, stealing a sausage and biting into it.

“You sure don’t. You want to come with me and my friends tonight? We’re just going to the bar, maybe watching the game.”

“I don’t need your pity invites.”

“It’s not a pity invite! I want to hang out with you. Come on, split from work a little early, and I will buy you a beer or something. Delicious, right? Beer. Beeers.”

“It’s a pity invite because you’re doing it out of some fucked up notion that you have to feel sorry for me. You honestly think I’d have fun with your goofball friends who I don’t even know and watch a game for some weird sport? You’re out of your mind. It’s torture enough to hang out with an idiot like you, the nerd king with the huge teeth. I never wanted you here and I can’t believe you actually have friends.” Dave drank his orange juice, swallowing rapidly. The silence lingering made him realize his tone had been more acrid than he intended. It wasn’t that he wasn’t annoyed. He was damn annoyed that people thought he was so desperate for human interaction that he would jump for any bone like that. But he usually kept his voice in a mumbling tone, and he had raised it, bitter and angry, and it must have been a first because John looked cowed.

It didn’t make him feel as good as he hoped.

He never tried to hide how much he despised John intruding on him, but this seemed like the first blow to actually land. John kept his eyes on the plate, pushing around his eggs with a fork. He had to bite down the impulse to apologize. Even though it was the truth, there was something suddenly sad and haggard about his eyes that sparked the urge to grovel and beg before him to make it go away.

“Sorry,” John said. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

Dave mumbled something like assent, the awkardness settling into his bones. He resisted the strong itch to jump out of his seat and start out the door, running for his work and anywhere except sitting at that quiet kitchen table where everything seemed so sleek and too dull. John dropped the fork, curling his fingers together.

“And that whole mixer thing is stupid, anyway. I mean, I only want to go because I don’t like sleeping alone, you’re right. Totally lame. But we could just go watch a movie or something, you know? Something way unnerdy.” John stood up from the table, collecting the plate and fork. “Sorry, Dave.”

Dave kept his eyes on the half empty glass of orange juice, listening to the door shut. He could hear John walk around for a while, the floorboards squeaking, then to the apartment door open and close. John must have left to take twenty trains to see his sister, leaving behind a few packages of food and Dave alone with his thoughts. He dumped the rest of the orange juice down the drain, watching the pulp swirl down, and grabbed his cell phone. He sat on his couch, listening to the rings.

“Good morning,” Rose said, her voice pleasant. “Is this about your neighbor again?”

“He’s an ass.”

“I’ve surmised as much. Especially from all the previous phone calls this month. I can’t remember the last time you called to wish me a good day, just the litany of your hatred against your new neighbor. John this, John that.”

“He’s a really big ass.”

“What did he do this time? Put jam in your jelly jar?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know, he’s just an ass.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his reflection warped in the clear coffee table. She must have understood his incoherency. Her voice softened kindly, more sympathetic.

“I’m surprised you’ve put up with him this long. I don’t remember you as kind to anybody who annoys you.”

“I’m not. Annoying shits are annoying shits.”

“So what’s different about John?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. He’s a twerpy little shit.” He combed through his hair again, the cream colored door complacent against the wall. “But he means it. He honest to God means everything he says and he doesn’t have an agenda. It’s different if a jackass has an agenda. It’s easier to take potshots at some selfish bastard, but he’s got Disney eyes and a pure heart of gold.”

“I feel it’d take more than a metal heart to wear you down.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t even care he’s in here, touching my stuff. It’s his whole damned personality, the way he’s so stupid. He’s an idiot.”

Rose seemed to breathe in thought, and he could almost imagine her, lounging on a stupidly luxurious felt chair, curling a strand of hair around her fingers. He missed her, sometimes, in ways he’d never tell her. He had one friend, and that one friend might as well have been twenty trains anyway. She might complain about his load of voicemail calls, but that was his way of missing her without telling her.

“Perhaps I should drop by for a visit,” she finally said, voice ringing loud and clear.

“Your girlfriend can hold down the home front?”

“Lord knows. Schedule it in, little brother. I’ll deal with your nightmares.”

“You are my nightmare, old hag.” But he did schedule her for a visit, and dragged himself away to prepare for work.

He stayed late at his office, finishing up with some cold calls and closing his research on his laptop. By the time he drove home, the stars had already begun to glimmer through the suffocating smog, and he knew he had lingered around the office to avoid John. He honestly hadn’t thought it could get worse than getting pied in the face, but he was wrong. He defiantly refused to admit any wrong to himself while simultaneously feeling terrible about doing wrong. He’d been right, John had been a jackass with his pity invitation, but at the same time, he didn’t feel right.

By the time the elevator reached his apartment at the top floor, he saw that he hadn’t needed to stay late. No light peeped out from John’s door. He still must be visiting his sister.

Despite this, trepidation filled his night. He drank some soda, the fizz melting away at his teeth, and turned halfway on his couch. He couldn’t watch his show with full attention, muscles tensed in case John barged through the door, like always. But there was nothing. No wrapped food in his refrigerator, no pranks lying in wait from his bookcases. Just the interior design he had based on fancy magazines and the canned laughter from television. He turned off his television and went to bed.

He made good enough money to choose a high end bed. He personally tested the mattresses until he found The One who conformed to his shape. But that night, his bed seemed too big.

It was as if he didn’t want to sleep alone.

At three in the morning, he finally stopped tossing and turning and tossed himself out of the bed. Barefoot, he approached the door in the middle of his wall and stared it down. The door loomed before him, representing everything that he hated. Rose would have something smart to say about it, but he didn’t. The knob felt cold, but he twisted the door open with an incriminating squeak of the hinges that never seemed to follow John’s entrances. Tingling ran down his spine, like he was intruding. John had always been eager with invitations to his own house, though. But logic didn’t stop the strange feeling in his limbs.

The apartment was dark and he could barely make out the furniture. The layout was basically the same as his own apartment, though he had some remodeling done on his own place. But he padded to the refrigerator, opening it and letting out the tinny light. John kept his refrigerator fairly well stocked, and he might have been hungry enough to take something, since he hadn’t eaten that night. But there was some food prepared already, not wrapped, but with a little post-it note that said “dave.”

He lost his appetite.

Instead, he took the plastic jug of apple juice. He twisted it open and drank it, some drops trickling out of his mouth and down his jaw. But it tasted sweet and juicy and good, refreshing in the chilliness, full in his stomach. He drank half and put it back into the fridge, feeling maliciously satisfied. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d done in his life, but he felt a sick appeasement.

He closed the refrigerator door and walked back into his own apartment, closing the door behind him. He settled into his couch, pulling an overpriced pillow underneath his head, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

\--

Dave smoked. Everyone in his office building smoked. The smoke breaks were rewarding and ample time to try and ease out insider tips, though he rarely. But in his usual life, he didn’t smoke too much. He smoked when he was stressed.

He was smoking now.

The cigarette ducked up and down between his lips, his arms crossed as he gazed down on where he had locked his keys inside his car. Everything seemed to be unraveling. His dearly beloved sister was supposed to show up that night, he had a big account to close today, and there was a new awkward level when he talked to John. Maybe if John never visited his apartment again, that would have been fine. He could have eased out of ever communicating with him, dissolving their relationships to brisk nods and long silences in the elevator ride up.

But John insisted on visiting him, unannounced, and always bringing him plates of food. He never invited him out again, or even mentioned his friends again, but ignoring the subject only made him uncomfortable. John tried too hard to make everything right, and he didn’t try at all.

He peered into his car, the tinted windows lit up by the cigarette glow. The keys sat distinctly on his passenger seat, and he had no way to get at them. There was no way around it. He would have to be late to the meeting, and just hope that the Adams account wouldn’t close because he was too much of a jackass to not lock his keys into the car. He woke up his cell phone, already spinning the screens to look up train times.

“Dave!”

He flinched, and half-turned to watch John jog up to him. He shouldn’t have been surprised, since he parked into the apartment’s parking lot. But he was surprised, and wondered for a moment if he could play it off like he didn’t recognize him. His day was shitty enough without adding a healthy dose of John.

“Hi! Wow, what a coincidence. I was just on my way to work.”

“Yeah,” Dave said, clutching onto his briefcase. “You should probably get going.”

“What’s wrong? Did you lock yourself out of the car or something? I have done that. It is pure nonsense.”

Dave flushed. This was the first time he’d done it, but John had a smarmy knowing look on his face. Instead, he focused his attention on the sky. The pure blue color shone over the brick buildings, dark birds landing on thin telephone poles. It would have been a beautiful day if it wasn’t such a shitty day.

“I’ll give you a ride,” John said, dangling out his car keys. “Then you can just call someone to come and fix it while you work. Problem? Solved.”

“Thanks but no thanks, eager beaver. I’ll just take the subway to work.”

“Come on, Dave.” John grinned at him, charming as always. “My car can probably get there faster.”

Even though it would have been a pain to find the station and figure out the schedule, his heels still dug into the tar when John pulled him by the elbow towards his car. His silver briefcase hit the side of his thigh, and he stumbled along. John’s car was like John’s clothes: terrible. Papers covered the interior of the car, cardboard boxes sitting in the backseat, and obnoxious furry dice dangled from the rearview mirror. The seats were old and there was nothing sleek or new about this car. Dave threw a wistful glance at his own car, sitting there with curved lines and seat warmers, and then slipped into the car that smelled faintly like mothballs.

He closed the door with a slam.

“It’s great, because I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you.”

He opened the door.

John started up the car, reverberations echoing over the frame of the car. Dave had to close the door again, the car rolling down the parking lot and onto the street. The vibrations thrummed from the seat into his frame, leaving him irritable and shaken, not stirred. He’d rarely seen John outside of the fluorescent light of his apartment, or even looked directly at him at all. He did now, propping his chin on his hand. John wasn’t particularly handsome, or at least not as handsome as he was. The only thing special about his stupid face was the way his mouth seemed to incline upwards, perpetually ready to smile. But John seemed healthier and happier in the daylight, basking up the rays with fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“I guess I still think about that fight we had, you know? I’m no super smart person, Dave, you gotta level with me sometimes.” John bit down on his lip, eyes distant and glued to the expanding horizon. The swollen city heat clogged the sights, the thin bars of black gates disappearing into glass buildings, pointing towards the sky.

“What do you want me to say?” Dave picked at the edge of his briefcase, uneasy. His eyes only darted up to give the occasional motion for him to turn right or left, ducking down again in embarrassment.

“I want you to say what you want to do! You’re right, going to a bar and watching sports is not your thing. But I still want to go somewhere with you. Wherever you want, my treat.”

“I don’t really care.” That was true. Dave liked staying inside and working his way through his Netflix queue. But he didn’t feel like shouting at John again, so he kept his voice low.

“You know, there’s this super fun event at my job. Is it okay if I take you? Just you and me, it’s our destiny, that sorta shtick. I think you’ll really like it.”

“Fine, sure. Whatever.” If it shut him up.

“Really? Wow, Dave, thanks!” John kept his eyes on the road, but he grabbed his hand and shook it. His grip was strong, like he last remembered, warm and strangely soothing despite the strength. He let his small hand get crumpled up, the fingers sticking out. John released him, but Dave withdrew his hand into his lap and pretended not to feel the warmth flowing from his hand.

“Here. I work here.” He waited for John to roll the car to a stop in front of a parking meter. He expected John to drive away, hopefully into a volcano, after he finished dropping him off. But he wasn’t so lucky, and he gritted his teeth as John darted out to hold the car door open for him.

“You work in a really nice place, Dave,” John said, eyes wide and scanning up the building. He had to admit that he did choose a nice place, the reflective windows bouncing off the rays of light and phantom images of adjacent buildings whispering against the sides. Everything was sleek and everything was wealthy, people passing on the streets with stiff dark suits, clean black dresses, dark gray coats, and pearls decorating necks and wrists. Dave blended in perfectly with the crowd, opting against a coat in the warm spring day. He knew he looked good and handsome, suit perfectly tailored for his size. He glanced up, but no birds arched across the sky.

“I should get to work,” Dave said, turning away. “See you later.”

That was a mistake. He could almost hear John brightening up at the admittance that they were seeing each other later. A fatal weakness, he had exposed his throat to the enemy, and all he could do was hurry into the building. He mumbled a small greeting to the receptionist and security guard, sliding through his ID to get through the doors, stuffing himself into the crowded elevator and finally getting off onto a floor. His office was clean, as always, and he cracked open his laptop to start his work.

“Davey boy,” he heard someone say, and he reluctantly glanced up. It was that man whose name he never remembered, who wore the strange cuffs and had a strange flush to his face, like he was always burning. The man took long strides into his room, shoulders squat over his shoulders and knowingly looking down the window.

“Sup.” He hated responding to his name, but he hated almost everything about his job. Except for possibly watering the plastic plants in his office. He enjoyed that.

“Who was that, taking a joyride with you? Looked like some kinda chump. The way he dressed, man, my gramma dressed better than that, and she’s dead!” The man guffawed to himself, slapping his knee. A real hearty sort of guy, not like the youngsters entering the field with their slicked back hair. Like Dave.

Dave slid his pen over his fingers, trying to respond. On one hand, John was a chump without a fashion sense. He’d seen it. Even though John had been on the way to work, he’d been wearing a rumpled blue dress shirt and blaring red tie, each clashing in a furious war. The shirt had been too pale and the tie too strong. But hearing the man laughing to himself about John didn’t feel good, either.

“Yeah, a real chump.” Dave took his mug, something he designed himself, company logo emblazoned in comic sans. He closed his laptop and left to fill his cup with weak coffee, because apparently nobody could afford either good coffee or two-ply tissue paper. It wasn’t like he loved his office, but he somehow felt irritated at the man for insulting John without even knowing him, and irritated at himself for feeling irritation.

\--

He tried to go home early, but he’d gotten lost in trying to find the subway station and only managed to find it using a tourist site on his phone. He’d nearly fallen asleep in the soothing lull, leaning against the divider and sitting in the cold and lumpy seat. His stop had been fairly close, leading him to cast doubts over John’s brave claim about his car being faster than the subway. Though he tried to call Rose, her phone was busy, and he resigned himself to tapping his toe on the elevator ride up.

He’d given Rose a spare key, but no light emitted underneath his door frame. She must not have arrived yet, though judging by the light from John’s door, his good neighbor was already home. He hastily unlocked his door and relocked it once inside, throwing his briefcase onto his couch and trying to clean up his mess. He stuffed the chips bags into chips bags, and he was halfway starting to wonder about chipception when he heard the door open from the wall.

“You’re late.” He’d recognize that melodious and judgmental voice anywhere and he turned to see Rose standing in the doorway. She looked like she just stepped out of his memory, a hop and a skip from childhood. A black headband, a dark purple cardigan, dark leggings, and that knowing smirk.

“There was the—subway—” He peeked behind her. “Were you in his apartment?”

“I was in his apartment.”

“Why were you in his apartment.”

“The short answer, tea. The long answer, quite fine tea.” She stepped back into John’s apartment, leaving him to trail behind her reluctantly. He felt a residual sense of guilt, like he was a trespasser. The last time he’d come into the room, he’d wrapped his lips and dripped saliva into apple juice that would’ve been given freely.

In the light, John’s apartment looked even shabbier. Dave couldn’t remember what his apartment had looked like before he remodeled, but he hoped that his apartment wasn’t as crappy as this. Movie posters plastered the walls and half his things were still stuffed in boxers. He’d apparently taken the effort to assemble half a table before giving up. But he had to admit, the apartment was quaint. What it lacked in anything substantial, it made up in friendliness. The refrigerator was practically sagging in tiny magnets, the ghost sheets were apparent from the half-open door in the bedroom, colorful clothes strewn over the suitcase, and heavy books piled on the floor with sheets of paper sticking out of them.

The teapot, cracked and rugged, sat on the kitchen counter where Rose had apparently been sipping her tea while she waited for him. An empty basket, yarn stuffing the sides, sat near the stool, and Dave knew she’d brought her cat.

“Hi, Dave.” John grinned up at him, sitting on the couch. A black cat was patting his nose, almost like the cat was playing with some amusing lesser human who needed pets and treats. He was still dressed in his obnoxious clothes.

“I was about to go into your apartment when your neighbor invited me into his room to wait. The tea is quite good.” Rose raised the teacup to her lips, smiling at him. “We’ve had a friendly chat.”

“Yeah, your sister is way cool. You should’ve told me that earlier! And her cat is cool, too. I have named him Dr. Meowgon Spengler.”

“His name is Mutie.” Rose sipped at her tea, elbows pressed against the counter and her lips curved in amusement.

“He is mad adorable. Do you want to hold him, Dave?”

“I’m fine.” Dave sat on the stool, weaving his fingers together. “What have you guys been talking about?”

“Cats, mostly. And invasion of privacy.” Rose smiled at him, knowing. A jab of guilt struck Dave in the chest, and surprising awkwardness descended upon him. It wasn’t felt by Rose or John, but he felt the guilt of dragging his sister into his mess. The situation was wrong. Rose had always known everything about him from day one, and she knew all the details about his childhood more than he could remember himself. He’d always fought for privacy, but he had always known secretly that there was never a privacy that Rose could not see. But now he was trying to shield the entire situation from Rose’s eyes.

“I don’t mind it,” he said, almost urgently, in his mumble. “Just as long as he doesn’t touch the turntables.”

Rose raised her eyebrow, but John had already sidled close to them, carrying Mutie in his arms and petting the kitten with reckless abandon. Whatever she was going to say, she only sealed her lips together and took another long sip of tea.

“What’s up with the turntables?” John asked, stroking down Mutie’s tail. “I’ve never touched them, anyway.”

Dave turned towards Rose, and she arched her eyebrow again. Today was a day for exposing his weak throat, apparently, and he cursed himself for his indiscretion. He must have revealed something to her by either not telling John to screw off or immediately telling him the reason himself, quietly asking Rose to say it for him. He ran his finger along the counter, trying to ignore her.

“They were a gift,” he said to the floor, “from my guardian. I don’t even use them anymore, but I used to be the shit at them.”

“You should show John sometime,” Rose said.

“Yeah! That would be really sweet. Would you?” John glanced at him, all shiny-eyed and pleading and annoying in his honesty. Again, he inadvertently glanced at Rose and again, she looked at him like she could see inside his heart.

“I guess.” He poked at his teacup. “Sometime.”

“I mean, unless it’s too much to ask, I haven’t known you all that long.” John shyly bit his lip, as if trying to take the words back. Dave shrugged in response, too busy trying to defend himself from Rose’s gaze.

“Haven’t known my sister all that long, either, but that hasn’t stopped her from wrecking everything.” At John’s questioning stare, he flushed and continued, aware of Rose’s impassive impressed smirk that he would reveal so much to his neighbor. “Same father, different mother. I was adopted.”

“I found him on Facebook. Truly amazing, technology. Are you Facebook friends with him yet, John?”

“Oh, nah. But we should be.”

“Like hell we should,” Dave said, but John only grinned in response. He had an easy way about him with strangers that Dave lacked. Where Dave walked stiffly, John had loose limbs that carried him through the conversation. John had an ease and a knack, and he opened himself well to Rose. Dave was pleased that he didn’t have to talk much through the conversation, Rose and John exchanging jokes through the night and Dave occasionally snorting when the nerdy corniness got the best of him.

It was three in the morning before Rose started to yawn, delicate with her hand over her mouth. John bid her good night and they stepped over into Dave’s apartment, letting the door swing behind them. Dave was preparing the guest bed when Rose stepped into the room, nighty down to her ankles.

“I haven’t seen you having so much fun for a while,” she said, head resting against the frame. “You used to have fun like this before you got drawn into your job.”

“It’s not the job.” Dave sat on the bed, elbows on his knees. Rose glided to sit next to him, hands folded across her lap.

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know, shit happens. You start as a kid and everything’s all hunky dory, then you grow up and you gotta do shit. That’s all there is to it. It’s not the job, it’s not the place, it’s not anything.” Dave snorted, rubbing his thighs. “It’s just shit.”

“It is shit,” Rose said amicably. “But I’m glad John cheers you up.”

“No way. He’s a chump. A loser. Did you hear his jokes? Godawful jokes, the last time I heard that skeleton joke, I was in first grade and still sucking my thumb like my fingers were damned lollipops.”

“You laughed.”

“At how stupid a guy has to be to still make that joke. He’s an annoying guy, Lalonde. Let it go.”

“He seemed excited that you were going to visit him at his work,” she said, tilting her head. Short strands of hair fell down on her face, and he brushed them back like he did when they were children. She smiled at him and he dropped his hands, sighing.

“Yeah. I don’t know if I should go. I said yes because he was begging me to go, groveling, all Dave if you don’t go the world is going to kasplode.”

“I think you should go. Though be careful, Dave Strider, it might be fun.” Her eyes lit up with mischief, and she climbed into bed. The cat was already snoozing away in the basket, making cat snores. He stood up, watching his sister carefully lie down with the blankets tucked up to her chin. He’d forgotten how much he missed her. It wasn’t that he was lonely, keeping to himself at home.

But it wasn’t that he was pleased to be alone, either, and he took her hand to squeeze it.

“I hate him,” he told her.

“I see,” she said, and he hated when she said that. She never really meant that she saw his point, but that she saw things that even he couldn’t see. But she was tired from her trip and Dave wasn’t going to drag her patience with his adamant declarations that John Egbert was an infection on the building. Her eyes fluttered shut and she fell asleep. He turned off the lamp and went into the living room, hands stuffed in his pockets and head stuffed with thoughts.

An apple sat on his kitchen counter that he hadn’t noticed before. A post-it note was stuck to the side, a familiar smiley face sketched over the paper. He stuck the note onto his refrigerator, the only thing on there now. He considered John’s refrigerator, covered with pictures of himself and his family and friends, childish ghost magnets and flyers to various events and notes about his work. But the post-it note felt like it was enough on the blank slate, and he grabbed the apple to mosey into bed, reminding himself to tear the note down before John or Rose could discover it.

He didn’t sleep immediately, sitting on his bed with his laptop open on his lap. Eventually, he signed onto Facebook, and like he expected, John’s friend request floated up to seek him out. He accepted him and closed the laptop, biting into the apple, and stared at the blank wall before him.


	2. jack and jill

Dave didn’t actually know John’s occupation.

Taking Rose out to lunch and grilling her for information only revealed John had a pet salamander named Casey in his bedroom, though she called Casey by her given name, Viceroy Bubbles Von Salamancer, and that she thought John was a sweet, if not misguided, boy. Rose drove back to her home, leaving him uneasy for John's Take Your Weirdo Neighbor To Work Day.

It wasn’t that John didn’t talk about himself. John never stopped talking about himself, or the theoretical physics of his movies. It was just that Dave never chose to listen. He was regretting that now, because he didn’t want to go to clown school or a theater to watch bad movies all day or anything that John might ever like. All he could recall about John’s job was something about a lab this and charts with strange abbreviations stuck to his refrigerator that. And also, wherever John worked, the dress code was lax. 

Unfortunately, John’s excitement accelerated until he was nearly bouncing off the roof. He’d drop by for visits during the weekend, bringing terrible movies and vulgarizing Dave’s DVD devices with his Nick Cage and Bill Cosby films. Dave wanted to exorcise the spirit of terrible acting forever from his machines, and while he was at it, exorcise John from his couch. John would bring popcorn and a blanket, pointing out all the “best” plot points, spoiling the movie in his excitement, go on exaggerated rants, and even worse, drop horrible hints about his job. 

_Face/Off_ was the worst, where John had been watching and chewing his popcorn. He turned to Dave thoughtfully.

“When you come visit me at work, you should be careful, too. Real slippery.”

He really didn’t want to go to John’s workplace and have his face exchanged. The worst part would have been wearing another man’s uglier face. He couldn’t give up his handsome mug, he spent years working on his face and he was drop dead handsome. But there was no digging his heels any longer. The day came.

John actually knocked on his front door, which surprised him. 

“Hi, Dave! Wow, you look good,” John said, admiring him. Dave had to look down at himself in surprise. John had told him to dress casual, so he dressed casual, with a jacket, jeans pulled from the back of his closet, beat-up sneakers, and a t-shirt of his favorite band that nobody’s ever heard. In essence, he was dressed like crap. 

“You look terrible,” he told John quite honestly, who seemed to take casual to even more casual than usual. 

“Thanks! Come on, I don’t want you to miss anything.”

He had to subject himself to being crammed into John’s car again, with John deciding that movie soundtracks were the absolutely best thing to suffer through while he drove away to steal Dave’s face. At least he was pleasantly surprised to see his face-pulling operation would be conducted at a clean facility. They pulled up to a marble building with a grand green slope in front. John had been right, and people milled around to celebrate some sort of festival. Balloons danced up and down, children ran around screaming, and kites fluttered in the air. 

“I don’t think there’s gonna be a lot of people today inside the building. Come on! You’ll love it, unless you won’t.” 

Dave dragged his feet out of the car and followed John through the crowd. He never felt too comfortable with crowds, but he didn’t get the chance to mull and seethe at the world because John had grabbed his hand, pulling him through the bustle. He yanked him up the stairs into the building and then down the stairs to the left, leaving Dave stumbling and barely enough time to even look around until it was too late and everything seemed dark and dreary in the basement where he could only assume he would be killed. 

“So this isn’t technically where I actually do my work, because I can’t show you that, but this is cool, right?” John beamed, glancing around the dark area. He kept pulling him through the corridor, and Dave stared down at his smudged sneakers that appeared blue in the dim light. 

“Where the hell are we?” he managed to ask, shoelaces coming untied. John slowed down in front of an opening where there was some stronger light coming through the curtains, and Dave almost let go of his hand when he saw his face. 

The shadows of the darkness against the strange blue lighting almost made him appear handsome. His eyes were lighted, bright and wide beneath his glasses, and his grin stretched across his face. John seemed to suddenly be placed in front of him, in a way that he previously never had been. It was hard to find that annoying neighbor who dropped off dozens of eggs in the morning while wearing fuzzy slippers in this man in front of him now. It was the first time he’d ever looked at him in the face, and he was taken aback by the liveliness in his eyes.

“Well, Dave, if you have to ask, then I must answer, that we are in the best darn place in the world,” John said, grin quickening over his face, and he dragged Dave through the dark curtains. 

The world exploded into light. His eyes adjusted, and he gripped John’s hand tighter. The aquarium opened up before him, water held by glass. Light struck through the top, clean rays illuminating the shifting sand and dark rocks below. Swarms of fish darted through the light, iridescent scales shimmering, moving as an amorphous form. Larger fish drudged through the water, spotted on their tails, and even an even larger fish cast a dark shadow from the top. The strong lengths of kelp swayed like a tree in a forest, thin blades drifting and curling when the fish swam through them.

“It’s fish,” he finally said. 

“It’s fish,” John agreed. They were standing on a platform, and the people below milled closer to the glass and existed only as shadows. John felt real, hand warm and gripped tight, and Dave looked at him. He could hardly see through his shades, so his features were difficult to make out. But he could see John’s eyes trail over the fish, smile on his face. He had a strong jaw and a better smile, and Dave dropped his glance to the shadows cast underneath his chin. 

“So what do you actually do here?” he finally mumbled. He allowed John to drag him down the platform and closer to the glass. 

“What? I didn’t tell you? Jeez.” John smiled at a brittle gray fish drifting away. “I’m a marine biologist at Prospit Aquarium. I mean, I’m mostly a genetics guy, so I just sit in a lab and do stuff. You know Dolly? What I’m doing is Dolly times five thousand. It’s five thousand Dollys, Dave. Five thousand.”

He wouldn’t have cared if John was cloning himself in the lab. The fish, he had to admit, was pretty cool. John, as always, won pain in the ass of the year. But he was grateful to the darkness for hiding his small smiles because John was ridiculous. He acted like every fish was the first fish he’d ever seen, dancing around the glass, turning to him with bright eyes when he thought the fish had looked at him, biological impossibility or not. Dave would have never thought John actually worked there by his excitement alone. But the more he wandered through the hallowed halls, the more convinced he became that he should have guessed John’s job. John was a huge nerd who loved talking about RNA like his second lover. 

Even the way John talked about the fish seemed perfectly aligned with his personality. Intelligent, yet utterly stupid.

“That’s _Hemitaurichthys polylepis_ , or the pyramid butterflyfish. Aren’t they awesome? They’re awesome. They’re used to living in coral reefs sorta thing, and they help keep the exhibit looking mad fresh. Yeah, they’re really cool. The young’uns got yellow, but the big ones are brown, and I named that one Tom. It’s a pretty sweet name.”

“You can’t tell which fish is which, dumbass.”

“I can, too! See? That’s Tom.”

“Good job, you just pointed to a different fish.”

“It ain’t a foolproof identification system,” John observed wisely, then proceeded to drag him over to the invertebrate area. Dave had to admit the experience wasn’t all bad, even with Chatterbox Egbert chattering a mile a minute. He wished he’d brought his camera. He hadn’t taken pictures in the longest time, though he couldn’t remember why he stopped. There was something attractive about the fishes that made him want to grab his camera and focus on the drifting fish.

John was busy explaining how _The Blue Planet_ was a fine masterpiece and trying to impress upon him David Attenborough’s voice when a young woman stepped up to him and murmured something in his ear. They were still lingering around the jellyfish, their curved light eerie and quieting in the darkness, but Dave could see the woman was wearing a lab coat. 

“Do you mind if I go for a bit? I know it’s supposed to be my day off, but some stuff has come up, but I don’t want to leave you alone—” John winced, rocking back and forth. “I know I promised you a jolly time, but.”

“You didn’t promise me that or else I never would have come. I’ll have more fun without you, get out of here already.” Dave was already turning away to the jellyfish again when he was swamped in a big hug. John overwhelmed him for a moment, his smell composed of light scents mingling together, musky and distinct. He raised his arms, stepping back under the force, but he wasn’t sure what to do. The Lalondes didn’t do hugs, and he most certainly never did hugs. But here he was in a strong embrace, and he patted John’s back almost helplessly. 

“Thanks, Dave! You’re the best, I will make this up to you. Here, give me your cell phone number so I can call you when I am done in a lickety split.” John withdrew with his hair askew and glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. He took out his archaic cell phone and exchanged numbers quickly, insisting Dave have his name under his contacts as “john!” and leaving rapidly at the heels of the woman. 

For some reason, wandering alone wasn’t as fun as he thought. It was nice without John constantly rambling in his ear about his boner the size of Jupiter for David Attenborough, but everything seemed lackluster. The scientific names just seemed less charming without John easily saying them, and then tripping over the pronunciation of toaster. 

He meandered back to the main room, taking out his cell phone to snap a few pictures. They weren’t great pictures with the glass and water distorting the features, but he felt something familiar stir in him, a memory of the days where he used to work hard to get the perfect shot. He almost wished he could come back to the aquarium when he was more prepared, but there was always the matter of John. Asking John to take him here felt too chummy and accidentally meeting John here would be too chummy. He resigned himself to decorating his picture with the classiest site, Blingee, and sending it to Rose. 

“Hey, I thought I’d find you here.” John climbed the steps to the platform, grinning and out of breath. 

“You’re late.” Actually, Dave couldn’t tell if John was late, and he didn’t care. John hurried to sit next to him. He was wearing a lab coat with a badge dangling from his pocket, and Dave could almost forgive John’s fashion sense. With the lab coat obscuring the worst of his fashion taste, he almost looked good. 

“I’m not late, buttmuncher.”

“You’re late. You took too goddamn long, thousands of years passed, a meteor hit this aquarium, and I died.”

“Wow, you’re lively for a dead guy.”

“It’s the face cream.”

“You know, you’re pretty good looking. Dead or alive.” John leaned back, legs crossed. Dave kept himself leaning forward, barely able to murmur something like agreement. He spent more hours in front of the mirror than he could count, but something made him too embarrassed to even watch the fish. He dropped his head and counted the scuff marks of his sneakers.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand. The kite festival’s outside and I want to show you my mad skill, it is incredibly awesome.” John hopped up, and Dave didn’t object. That, of course, was taken as explicit approval for the plan. Near the entrance by the starfish sculpture, John abandoned his lab coat and took him down the steps the small tents. 

Dave found a relatively empty spot on top of the hill, stuffing his hands into his pockets and glancing at the sky. A few birds rustled up from the nearby thicket of trees, and the colorful carnival roared behind him. The wind had picked up, whipping his hair over his forehead and messing it up terribly. On an average day, he’d seethe about the messing of his perfect hair-do. But with John at the helm, it was impossible for him to look worse. 

By the time John returned with his newly purchased kite, bright red and yellow, the wind had auspiciously picked up. Dave’s jacket whipped around his thin frame, and he gripped the kite by the edges while John ran off with the spool. 

“Are you ready?” John yelled, standing a good distance away. The wind half-carried away his voice, but Dave could hear him. Nevertheless, he made a shrugging motion.

“I said, are you ready!” John hollered a few more times before he caught on. He was a multitasker, laughing and giving him the finger at the same time. Dave took the finger as the sign, and released the kite into the air.

The heavy gusts of wind easily picked up the light frame, deftly tossing the kite into the air with shallow billows. John yelled loudly, this time indistinct, but his grin could have torn apart his face. He jumped up and down, motioning for Dave to look at the kite, but Dave chose to trudge towards him instead. 

“It’s flying,” John told him, grin proud.

“No shit.” But Dave finally turned around, keeping his eyes on the kite that dashed around in the silk blue sky. The other kites swarmed around, cloth dragons and wispy butterflies anchored to the world in strings. John’s elbow bumped into his side, but he didn’t mind. 

“You’re smiling,” John said. Dave started, immediately winching his mouth downwards. But it was too late and John laughed at him, slinging an arm over his shoulder and insisting that he take a turn at the utmost important task of holding the kite string. Dave was tempted to release it in petty revenge, but kite flying was amusing in itself. For the ride home, however, he had to bear John’s knowing grins for seeing his smile. 

He added poison as the sixth silent killer for John’s mysterious untimely death onto his list.

\--

John was an idiot. There was scientific proof out there that John was an idiot. John, heartened by the illusion their outing had made them closer in heart and spirit, dropped by more often. Dave grew accustomed to seeing John’s ugly mug at his breakfast table, steaming plates serving two. Sometimes he would skip lunch in defiance to actually eating three meals a day, which he had never done in his life. Still, he couldn’t completely blame John for occupying his table, since John didn’t seem to ever really finish unpacking. John’s breakfast table was probably a box. 

Work was his only island of reprieve from John’s onslaught. In his superficial coworkers and weak coffee, he found solace. He didn’t stay longer specifically to avoid John, though that was a benefit. Rumors often floated around the office, such as who was sleeping with whom, but there was a spicy insider tip that never seemed either confirmed or disconfirmed about fisheries. He steered the Barlow account clear, and spent the rest of his time texting Rose about how John was a black hole for intelligence. Just another day at work in Derse Trades.

John’s stupidity, by all means, shouldn’t have existed. Dave actually grew bored enough to google his name, and to his disappointment, John was competent in his field. John published research with his name was listed under various projects, and his articles were found in illustrious magazines. Those magazines would have been the most handsome stallions if magazines were horses. And still, John left Facebook messages with more exclamation marks than a human could possibly explain all over his timeline.

And he started conversations in a perfectly idiotic way. 

“You ever think about life?” John said dreamily, lounging on the couch. 

“No.” Dave didn’t look up from his laptop, typing in the figures. The air was growing bloated in heat, even at night. He chose to leave the balcony doors open rather than turning on a fan or the air conditioner. It wasn’t that he was economical or interested in saving the planet, but the air felt cool against his sweating skin. He only wore his pajama pants low on his hips, but John managed to endure with his cargo shorts and sweatshirt. The sweatshirt, for all that Dave was concerned, was pure blasphemy in the heat that John’s red face felt strongly. John must not have been aware how to dress for the weather, and he didn’t care to tell him, especially not for stupid questions about life.

“I think about life. Like, life! And stuff. Like, take me, for instance.”

“Really rather not.”

“I used to play the piano, and I was okay at it. I mean, I wouldn’t do anything different, but sometimes I miss playing it.” John raised himself onto his elbow, hair matted down his forehead. 

“Then play it.” Dave stopped typing, resting his chin over his hands. “What’s stopping you from spreading Egbert smarm over those keys?”

“I don’t have a piano, for one thing! It’d be a pain to move it up here.” 

Dave had never been more thankful for a piano’s weight. The rooms were far from soundproof, especially in the living room, and he already heard too much of John cursing at the stove without adding in Hot Cross Buns. But John seemed unusually wistful that night.

“I get it,” Dave finally said. “I used to take a buttload of pictures. Didn’t stop being awesome at it, but shit happens.”

“Does it? You should take pictures again, those pictures on the wall look real nice.” 

“Maybe later.”

“Maybe now!” 

“Then why don’t you play that piano, huh?” It wasn’t the sickest burn delivered, but Dave thought it was rather an adamant scorch. 

“Maybe I will.” John twisted on the couch to face him in earnest. “The aquarium is holding this informal shindig and they’re looking for someone to play the piano and I think I might want to do it? But I am not sure if it is a good idea, bluh.” 

The words tumbled out of his mouth like a storm, frenzied and frantic, and John’s fingers tangled together in a terrible knot. Stress lines dug deep troves on his forehead, his teeth bit down over his lip, and his neck was drawn in tension. Dave had never seen John so honestly worried about anything. He looked at him over the dim light of his laptop, the delicate moment throbbing between them. It was an almost sickening feeling to know John would listen to him, no matter what he said. All the money in the accounts, all the multimillion companies fluttering across the screen, and this was the moment when his palms sweated in the hazy night glare and the simmering heat from his open balcony.

“You should do it,” he said, low and raspy. 

“Yeah?” John’s fingers tensed, then relaxed, collapsing the temple of his fingers onto his stomach. “Yeah. You’re right, I mean, it’s just a thing. Ain’t no big hooplah. If it was a big hooplah, that’d be different. But yeah. You’re smart, Dave.”

Dave massaged his forehead, pinching his temple between forefinger and thumb. Rose listened to him, despite her long-suffering sighs and multi-tasking by painting her nails at the same time. But John was another sentient being who seemed, for no reason, to trust him completely. He was oddly compliant with him, like an oversized dog who managed to jam his way onto the couch and scramble eggs in the morning. Between the two, he’d never thought he had much power in the relationship, since John powerhoused his way into everything. But he slid his hands down to rest on his knees, watching him carefully.

“You should take off that stupid sweatshirt. Fucking hot in here, you’ll get roasted alive in a toasty Egbert ass sandwich.”

“Your face is an ass sandwich. And shut up, I’m not used to living on the top floor with freaks like you.” John pulled his sweatshirt up and off, bundling up his cheap sweatshirt to cover the pillow that probably cost more than his yearly salary. 

John Egbert was a wimp. He wasn’t extraordinarily excited, but he was excited enough. People listened to him enough, but they just listened to his words, nodding along blandly to his motor mouth movements, ready to jump onto any chance to turn things back to themselves in glorious conceit. But John was listening to him, all there, all acceptance and soft parts, and it was oddly comforting to know John would listen to what he said. Now, whenever he wanted freedom, he didn’t have to slam the door in the face. He could shuffle him out with words alone. 

But he didn’t. Not because Uncle Ben ever imparted lines about responsibility on him, and not because he felt like being nice to the twerp. He just didn’t feel like it, and let John’s eyes flutter shut and his breathing steadied out, arm draped to the floor with fingers brushing the hardwood. He closed the balcony doors, shutting off his laptop, and turning on his air conditioner in a middle finger to the environment. Finding a thin blanket folded in his closet, he wrangled it out and tossed it over John and set the alarm for him on his cell phone. That would have been all, except a camera caught his eye. He’d forgotten he’d put an old one close to the bookshelves, and he pulled it out. 

The weight felt the same against his hands, and he held the camera to his eye. Through the viewfinder, he wandered around the room, the focus zipping on and off the pretentious house he’d built for himself where everything was corners, sleek and sharp and without any evidence that anyone ever lived there. He’d forgotten how much he liked cameras, an old hobby that resurrected some fond feelings in the cavity of his broken chest. There was a time when he’d take pictures of everything, the world drawing into sharp focus. He had albums filled of selfies. In retrospect, those were most of his human subject pictures. 

The view happened upon John, and he paused for a moment. He adjusted for the low light. He focused on the horrible and ugly face that only a father could love with that conglomerate of unfortunate features. Still, there was belongingness to his ugly face that almost made it tolerable, something that’d been brought out by the aquarium. He snapped a picture. His hand snaked out to tug off John’s glasses from his nose, placing them on the table. Something felt warm inside him, holding the camera again.

It’d been a long time since someone listened to him.

It’d been a long time since he listened to someone, too.

\--

John had a variety of unfortunate ways of starting out conversations. He had an odd and wrong habit of saying Hi, Dave! like it was goddamn news to see him everyday. He also had a stupid habit of starting out his conversations with So, like they’d actually been talking about the topic in deep thought beforehand. Dave deeply loathed both habits. 

“Hi, Dave,” John said, “So I’ve been practicing at this piano place downtown, and you should come and listen sometime because I think I’m getting better.”

It was too early in the morning for this. He scratched his stomach and sat down at the breakfast table, where his comic sans mug was filled to the brim with warm coffee. The newspaper was layered out in front of him, comics first, and he only grunted in response because he was too busy pursuing that Marmaduke’s shenanigans. John shuffled around in his kitchen, fluffy pink **** the Cook tied around his waist, and served him the breakfast food. Today’s menu was apparently waffles cooked to a generous golden brown, with sliced red strawberries dotting the whipped cream. He had a side serving of darkened sausages and eggs, sunny side up, the yolk perfectly preserved like a sun in a pool of egg. Dave stole a sausage off John’s plate, munching on it and contenting himself to sipping coffee. He never realized he owned a waffle iron. That was a good purchase that he never remembered actually making. 

“Do you have work today? If you don’t have work today, you should come.” 

“Like you’d stop asking me to come if I had work.” Dave stole a part of egg from John’s plate, then pried off a bit of waffle for himself. Yes, that waffle iron was a good purchase, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember when he bought it or the last time he actually used it. 

“For today, yeah! Your work’s super important. What you do is really cool and you must have a lot of fun.” John rested his forearms on the table. The morning light streamed in through the balcony, and he turned to face the open sky. 

Dave wouldn’t say he had fun at his job. He wouldn’t even say it was exciting. But he could remember a time when it was both, to him, a long-burning passion and the exhilaration of figuring out the numbers, getting the inside info, cutting through the thick and coming down to the thin. He wondered when it turned to just something to do, for him, and he snagged another piece of waffle off John’s plate. 

“I can come,” he said, “Just got to call my sister first.”

“For permission?” John threw him a weird look, munching on his sausages. 

“Yeah, for permission. I was thinking about crossing a street today, you know how I need my sister to hold my hand.” Dave relaxed his neck, playing over his iPhone. “And she left a voicemail this morning. Maybe it’s a blind date thing.” 

“Blind date! Wow. That must be nice.”

“Hell no, it’s a nightmare brought to you by fleshy monsters. It’s your flighty broad sister setting you up on a date, her slanderous mitts cherry-picking a lady or dude from her morbid book club.” Dave opened and closed weather apps on his screen. 

“You want to go on a date?”

“I don’t know. She’s probably calling about something else.” That would have been all, but his big mouth couldn’t help but add, “And I don’t have time for the dating shindig, anyway.”

“If you say so.” John raised his eyebrow, a silent rebuke for all the time Dave had to spend with his annoying neighbor and apparently on nobody else. 

“The dating scene is annoying,” Dave said, trying to cover. “Awkward icebreakers, oops, you spill your drink all over his tux, riding in the backseat of your brother’s car with your date and Bro’s sitting there talking about how his little dude's all growed up and it’s all fucking downhill from there.”

“There are nice dates, you know. No, don’t laugh at me, mister, I know it. I take my dudes out on the best dates ever!”

“The aquarium? Generous.”

“No, not the aquarium. I only take friends there, jeez.” John leveled a knowing glance at him, as if name-dropping the buzzword ‘friends’ would bind them together. Dave snatched a strawberry from his plate in reward to his efforts.

“Has anyone ever taken you out on a nice date?” Dave asked him, licking the whipped cream off his fingers. 

“I’m sure they have,” John said, vague in the way that only a positive person could frame a negative answer, “I haven’t been on a date for a while, so I don’t really remember. You think I should start dating again?”

It would have been easy to tell him to say it was none of his business or that he didn’t care. Those were both true. But Dave wiped his fingers on his napkin and felt that strange feeling, uncomfortable inside him, at the way John looked to him for the wisdom he lacked. It was strange that he wanted to tell him that there wasn’t any hurry to find a date. Something about the warm meal in the morning, the stirring air of summer waking up, the way John sat across from him with the apron still clasped with hastily tied strings. He wanted to say no, but John listened to him, and not many people did that. People must listen with their thoughts tied down to themselves, but John looked at him with clear eyes all the way down to his heart, and he could see John was completely there and waiting. 

“Shit, I don’t know. It’s your love life. If you feel like you want to date, then date.” That was as honest an answer he could give. He tugged the napkin harshly against his fingertips.

“Yeah. Maybe it’s time to start dating again.” John grinned at him. “Thanks, Dave.”

He didn’t deserve the thanks. He didn’t deserve that much from John at all, who always regarded him with impressed eyes. And here he was, feeling low for himself for no good reason. It was probably the breakfast. If John was dating someone else, then he wouldn’t have time to make him breakfast. 

No breakfast. No wonder he felt so low about the prospect of John dating. It was the most important meal of the day.

“I’ll get dressed, fartlord. Leave the dishes in the sink.” He sauntered off to his bedroom, off to call Rose and find something suitably bland to make John look less terrible in comparison. Unsurprisingly, she answered her phone, and surprisingly, she told him she’d call back tomorrow. He was left with a residual worry about his sister by the time he cleaned up and went out, unsurprised by the clean dishes.

He was still contemplating about breakfast loss and his sister when John drove up in his shitty car. He climbed into the seat and tried to forget about things, tucking his phone into his tight jeans and listening to John recite the plot of _Contact_ to him again. Unfortunately, John always tried to accompany his movie retellings with his hand motions, and he kept a wary eye on the wheel behind his shades. But the roads eventually slimmed down and criss-crossed when they reached the downtown area, the sparse trees lining the comfortable stories, cafes with open umbrellas outside and store fronts with bustling people. John parked close to a coffee shop, and hustled his way out of the car, insistent on holding the door open for Dave. It was a nice time of day, early enough in the morning to escape most of the scathing heat, though Dave could feel his skin already reddening under the sun. 

John ducked into a music school, sly as always. He trampled down the hallway leading to a small room with a mediocre stage, a piano sitting off to the side near some black shapeless chairs. Dave dusted off a nearby seat and John tinkered around the piano, the light from the high window falling on both of them in a cascade. Dave crossed his legs and waited with the most condescending look he could must. But he had to admit, this place was cozy. 

“I have a friend of a friend of a little shit who has a friend who lets me practice here,” John said, playing a high note. He seemed like a nervous schoolboy, stretching out his arms and rolling back his shoulders, feet planted on the floor.

“You going to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?” Dave crossed his arms over his chest, his businessman pose. “Go for it, dude. You are the Star. The Star is you. You are the big man and you hass the balls.”

“What?”

“Just play your dinky song, dude.”

“I want you to like it!” John flexed his fingers for the fifteenth time, resting his fingers on the white keys and dancing off them again to his lap.

“Of course I’ll hate it. Don’t fool yourself.” 

“Shut up, you won’t. You’ll say wow, John, that was so good, bluh. But I want you to honestly like it because you’ve been really supportive and stuff and that’s really cool of your doofus ass. I haven’t played piano in like, forever, and now I can play in front of people all over again.” 

Dave didn’t think he’d been that gushingly supportive. He’d been gently encouraging of John to leave his apartment in the mornings to practice, but that was because he wanted to enjoy his Marmaduke in peace. But John did listen to him, with an insistence and trust that plagued him. Maybe saying that he should play in the first place was enough for John, who didn’t seem to lack willpower but rather a confidence inside him.

“You’ll be fine,” he mumbled, tone growing gravelly in embarrassment. Fortunately, John didn’t seem to be listening to him this time, face turned sheets lined with music in front of him.

“I had my first recital when I was like, young.” John shuffled through the music sheets, immersed. “It was pretty boring. But my dad was there and afterwards, he came out with this big bunch of flowers and he said he was so proud of me and all that stuff. It was super embarrassing and way lame.” 

Despite the apparent lameness of the gesture, John had a soft smile on his face.

“And I kept doing them, doing performances, and my dad would always have these… they were huge flowers, jeez, it was lame. And then we’d come home and he’d put them in a vase by the door, and when I came home from school, there would be the huge flowers. It didn’t matter if I messed up or if I tripped on stage or if I just plain sucked, my dad would always get me huge flowers, even though sometimes I would go off with my friends, he’d always be there for a hug and stuff. Lame. Really lame. And then I had my last recital, and it was fine and boring, but there wouldn’t be any more piano playing because I decided on doing all the sciencey bits and it didn’t mean I’d stop playing, it’d just mean I played with other stuff, too, and not recitals.”

John fell into a quiet lull, musing over something. Dave thought of snarky things to say, witty things, smart things, and he didn’t say them. 

“The performance was fine and stuff, and my dad was there at the end with the flowers, and then I kinda realized I wouldn’t be getting flowers anymore. And at the end of the day, I wouldn’t really have my dad there for me. He’d be a gajillion miles away and I’d never really come home again to those stupid flowers.” John glanced at him, almost shyly. “But I was thinking about inviting him to come watch me, and stuff. And at the end, I’d give him a bunch of flowers and thank him. For everything he did.”

“I think he’d like that.” Dave had to keep his eyes on his hands, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to spread over his face. It was surprisingly quaint. It was surprisingly touching. The room was dusty and the air was sweltering, rising up against his breath, but there was something nice about everything. It almost could have made him call his sister, breaking past the awkward parts where he didn’t know how to say it, but to make her feel vaguely that he appreciated her snarky horseshit. 

“Yeah, I hope so. First I have to actually play good! I even invited Jade, and she seems really happy about this whole thing, too. But I really just invited you here to tell me how good I am.” John flexed his fingers again, this time almost at the poise of readiness. 

“You could have grabbed any chump off the street.”

“I grabbed the chump next door because it means a lot when he says I’m good!” John grinned at him, and then turned back to the piano. He inhaled a light breath, and it seemed something changed in the room. Dave couldn’t tell what, exactly. The room was still small and it was still far too hot for summer. But John closed his eyes, fingers resting, body attentive but not tense. 

John began to play. The music had a playful rhythm and a bright tempo, unhurried but brisk. Dave was interested in music, but when he thought piano, he imagined the Mozart movie and Beethoven majestically playing for standing ovations. But this piece was almost childish in amusement and delight, tumbling notes that trickled over each other, winding around and around, mindful lower notes carrying through a mirthful undertone while the higher notes chimed in, pure and high, skipping throughout the sound. Even that was occasionally broken when fingers brought down swift to still lower notes, a backbone to the light-hearted notes. John played—well. 

John had spoken so lightly of his recitals that Dave hadn’t thought much of it. But here, he could see a performance worth the lifetime of peonies. John played surprisingly well, fingers delicate but strong and firm to tap out the notes. He’d never noticed the fine shape of John’s fingers, but they were brought out strikingly against the white background of the keys. He played with an exhilarating assurance, confidence in every note, feet moving against the pedals and knuckles standing out when he brought his fingers sharply down all at once on the occasion. In the more playful notes, his fingers moved with grand purpose over the keys, rapid and swift in every judgment. He played with an ease, like the John who spilled orange juice down his front had disappeared and was replaced with this strange man who sat up straight and darted his hands back and forth like a master.

John was still ugly. Dave was certain of this. But the becomingness had started to become more striking to him, the strange something beneath his awkward features that made his eyes focus and his lips part in concentration, lines of his body sharp and focused. He played until he stopped, and once he stopped, Dave wish he hadn’t done so.

“Now tell me I’m great,” John said, turning towards him, eyes bright and amused. “Tell me I’ve got the sickest moves in all the right ways.” 

And Dave was tempted, in that moment, to repeat all that and even more earnestly towards him. The music was intoxicating, and it was almost cruel that the music had been so mischievous and mirthful because now it ran in his ears and taunted him. But he checked himself just in time, trying to recollect that this was another annoying afternoon with his annoying neighbor who stuck his nose into too many places.

“You sounded like an asshole,” he said hoarsely, and he was dutifully rewarded with John’s bright laugh. 

John insisted he taught Dave at least how to play a few notes, and Dave sat at the piano bench with John hovering over him. He had always been a fast learner, but he played the obtuse fool just to annoy John. For John’s credit, at least, he seemed amused and highly attentive to teach him the basic notes that Dave had learned long ago with his turntables. 

“You’re such a piece of shit, Dave,” John said, after Dave purposefully messed up for the third time, and he leaned over him to turn the sheets on the stand. Dave almost glanced at him, then, at the way his hair fell over his ear, the strong lines of his jaw, and the way his Adam’s apple moved. He smelled like burnt breakfast and seawater and whipped cream, and Dave reached out to touch John’s hair.

John turned towards him, surprise evident in his eyes that seemed magnified under his thick glasses. Dave immediately released his hair, scooting away on the bench.

“You need a haircut,” he said. John seemed to accept this, made a few corny jokes that used hair and heir, and seemed set to teach him the next song. Dave, no longer in any mood to play with him, mastered it quickly and he was thankful when they finally set off back to go home. There was only one more moment of vague concern to him when they reached the car. 

John glanced at the coffee shop, and he seemed to smile and wave. Dave tried to see who waved back, but the crowd was too thick and the moment moved too fast. He piled back into the car, buckling his seatbelt, and pretending that he didn’t care about anything at all.

\--

The apartment had a swimming pool, and John insisted they take a swim one day. Dave tried to insist he hadn’t gone swimming since he was a fetus, all to no avail. It was settled. John brought over neon bright floaties and a donut float, dragging him down to the empty pool. Dave stepped through the gate and he was reminded, immediately, of all the reasons he hated going outside. The chlorine smell overwhelmed him, the umbrellas seemed unsuitably dingy, and the turquoise water flung shards of light directly into his shades. 

John called him a wimp, and tossed him the sunscreen while he went to go swimming.

Just as Dave had settled into a comfortable lounge chair under an umbrella, Rose called. He picked up more swiftly than he usually would. He wouldn’t want Rose to actually think he loved his sister. But he was still concerned about her, and had the sunscreen propped open on his knee.

“Sup.”

“Good morning.”

“It’s the afternoon. About.” Dave peeked out under the umbrella. Upon reaffirming the location of the sun, he snuck back into the shade. John was making a fuss by the pool, floundering around on his donut tube.

“I haven’t been out much.” Rose sighed. “She proposed to me.”

“This is the part where I’d be saying congrats, sis.” Dave rolled the sunscreen lotion between his fingertips, waiting.

“I didn’t—refuse her.”

“You didn’t say yes to the dress.”

“I did not refuse the bridal gown entirely. I’ve said I’d give her my answer soon. She’s been understanding about this, more understanding than I deserve. It’s unsettling.”

“Gotta step in there, sliding in like it’s middle school prom and I’m taking you on the first dance, spinning you around just like they taught us in tango class—”

“Like any ordinary brother and sister.”

“—and tell you that if you don’t say yes to the dress, that’s up to you. Not everyone knows what to say right away. You deserve all the time you need to think a thunk.” Dave watched as John floundered in the pool, hair slick over his head.

“It’s the perfect time to get married.”

“Shit, really? I’ll have to double-check my marriage almanac.” Dave blew a light raspberry to her, reclining back in his seat. “Guess what, it says try again later. If you’re not ready to get married, she’ll understand. Nobody’s proposed to me, but I bet I’d runaway bride my bony ass out of marriage if it’s too soon.”

“Your ass is indeed bony,” Rose said, with great melancholy. “But it isn’t—that. It’s me. I don’t know if…”

She trailed off, and Dave didn’t push her. He had only met his sister when his formative adolescent years had already been hardened, but he knew her more than any casual coworker would know her. She was confident in her decisions. She was assured of her foresight and damned it all to hell and back if she wasn’t right all of the time. It wasn’t like her to be nervous.

“It’s not like you to be nervous,” he said. “So you must really like her.”

“I love her,” she said. “And I’m afraid of many things, Dave.”

“Love fucks you up. But you already know you want to sit up in a tree with your girlfriend all day. Fuck, this is basically a wake-up call for me to get you a blow-up doll for your wedding day gift.” 

“It’s one thing to know what to do,” she chided, “but quite another to actually do it.”

“I never trained to be a therapist. That’s all on you. But if you want to talk about what’s holding you back, I’ll hook you up to Cleverbot.”

Though it was a half-assed joke, Rose seemed to laugh. Dave turned his head absently towards the pool, where John was pulling himself out of the water. He slicked back his hair even more, shaking off the water droplets and snagging the white towel to sling around his neck. He smelled strongly like sunscreen as he padded towards him, dropping into an adjacent chair. After a moment, John put his hands in the air and started to play an invisible symphony, fingers darting over the shadows of the umbrella. 

“I never thought I could feel this way again,” Rose said, voice melodious. “That fear, when you want time to stay still. When you don’t want to ruin anything. One step forward might mean all the steps back.”

“You’re afraid of change, Lalonde? Color me surprised.” 

“I’ve known all my life what to do and how to do it, Strider. But when it comes to her, I feel nervous all over again. She’s—everything. It’s the way the stories tell it, the one person who makes you feel happy and whole, who deserves to be loved.” But there was a charm in her voice, a lilt, that made him feel almost reassured. John had his eyes closed, arms weaving through the air. The moment felt a little bit perfect, the heat prickling against his cool skin, the water occasionally lapping the donut tube against the side, John’s fingers playing the wind. 

“I had so many questions, at first. If she was the one, my soul mate. If she loved me back. If I could—risk it. If I can leap, blind and faithful, and if she’ll be there to leap with me.”

“Fifth date jitters.” 

John had dropped his hands, scooting forward in his chair to grab the sunscreen lotion. He pushed Dave to a sitting position and leaned over to spread the lotion over his skin. Dave sat, bent forward, feeling the long fingers splay out over his back and how they worked over his shoulder blades, following the bumps of his spine. Against the summer heat, the cool lotion was a relief. John’s ministrations were soft and spread out, relaxing against his muscles.

“Thank you, Dave.”

“Why are you thanking me? You haven’t decided on anything. Walked in and walked out, the same exact state. Just got your hat and left.” 

“You’ve made me feel like I have time to decide. And you’re right, that I do. I know what I need to question and which fears are silly. But you’ll have to understand why I need more time, though the answer seems obvious to the both of us.”

The wind blew against the umbrella, letting the flaps sway lightly. Dave watched the shadows dance over John’s shoulders, squirting more lotion into his hands. He seemed at peace, staring out into the pool, his shoulders broad and firm and his chest well-muscled. He was strong in every sense of the word, in the lines that carved out his defined legs and surrounding the steady muscles on his arms. The water droplets clung to his skin, beading down his arms. With his hair slicked back, more of his face was exposed, and his entire face had an easy-going look. He seemed happy. He seemed happier than Dave imagined possible.

“I know. It’s one thing to know what to do,” Dave said, “and another thing to do it.”

\--

Under the cover of the night, the gray clouds moved into the city. Dave leaned over his balcony, scanning over the heavy clouds that lumbered over the people. The tall buildings threatened to rip open the thick bellies. It was a surprising juxtaposed weather, and he’d be hearing mutterings about global warming for days straight. He couldn’t tell if it was turning into fall or it was summer’s clinging heat, the strange meandering days.

“It’s really happening,” John was saying, pacing back and forth in the living room. His hand occasionally darted out to hit a note on an invisible piano, withdrawing his hand as fast as it came and pacing again. 

“You’ve been practicing a shitload. You’ll be fine onstage.” 

“I really want my dad to think I’m good! I just… I haven’t done a performance in years, Dave. My sister is coming in like two days and she’s gonna stay with me and she will listen to everything and! What if I forget my lines. I’ll forget my lines, Dave!”

“It’s not a Christmas pageant, Charlie Brown.”

“It just means a lot to me. To show my dad how much it meant, and, and stuff. God, I don’t know. I need to practice more. I’m going to go practice more. You wanna come?” John grabbed his jacket, poised and ready to flow out of the door like an elegant nervous swan with too much coffee in his blood. He’d been drinking a lot lately, always active and walking around in the middle of the night.

“Think I’ll catch up on some Netflix flicks.” Dave was grateful to walk back into his apartment, closing the door behind him with the curtains shut. The weather carried certain agitations. It felt like the whole world was waiting, and he didn’t know why.

“Sure. Okay. See you later, Dave.” 

Dave plopped down into his couch and turned on the television, ready to watch whatever shitty movie happened to be catering towards him at the moment. It felt like a long time since he had truly sat down and watched a movie alone. No John kicking his feet into his lap or stealing his popcorn or forcing him to watch a terrible movie with stone cold actors. He did, of course, feel relief at his alone time. But not as much relief as he thought.

There was something more singular about his room. Like it became more obvious that he took his designing cues from a magazine, not from anything inside of him. The movie flickered on, and he was alone. Even the movie made him malcontent, and he turned it off in favor of trying to do some work. But that left him restless, and he stubbornly ate some of the food John had packaged for him in the refrigerator. 

He’d been alone before, and he hadn’t been lonely. That was a fact. But there was something about being alone, now, that made him feel like something was missing. He refused to believe he could miss that obnoxious donkey bray of a laugh, or a person taking up his kitchen table and quoting about the importance of breakfast. Yet, still, let alone to his own devices, he found his own devices lacking.

Rose was his friend. And that was all. He was popular enough, but he could count all his closest friends with one finger. But maybe, if he had to admit to himself anything, John was—not totally despicable. Maybe he was even acceptable, in the loosest sense of the world. 

The sticky note he had placed on his refrigerator still stuck there, the smiley face a strange comfort. He had forgotten to remove it, but it had slowly become a steady fixture in his kitchen. He sipped his tea and thought, tomorrow, he might actually invite John to cook breakfast for him. That was a step in the right direction. After bouncing the idea around a few times, he decided it was a sound idea, and went to bed quite content. 

\--

A dish broke. 

He heard it from his bed, since the walls were especially thin around the living room area. He started up, wrapping a bathrobe around him, and hurried to his own kitchen. His own dishes seemed safe, some still soaking in the sink. The breaking plate must have come from John’s apartment, and he hurried and placed his hand on the doorknob. A feeling came upon him, tingling and electric down his back. But he couldn’t identify it. 

He opened the door. 

A man was standing there, one whom he couldn’t identify at first, though there was something familiar about his face. He was only wearing John’s bathrobe, skin peeking from where it loosened. Shards of porcelain littered around his slippers, and he seemed startled that the door in the living room had opened. Dave didn’t recognize this man who stood in John’s apartment, wearing John’s clothes.

“Don’t touch the edges, you will just cut yourself—oh! Hi, Dave.” John appeared, broom in hand, which he passed over to the man in the kitchen. John himself was only wearing dark boxers and sprouting red marks down his neck. His hair seemed even more mussed than usual.

“Sorry,” Dave said, “I heard…” 

“Oh, yeah. Just a little dishwashing accident. Um, this is the guy I was telling you about, he’s from the coffee shop. He serves great coffee, let me tell you. Except don’t, there’s not much to say! And this is Dave, he’s my neighbor and he’s seriously cool.” John beamed at him, obviously expectant, but Dave wasn’t here for some meet and greet. He grunted something like acknowledgment and an apology, and escaped through the door. 

He locked the door behind him, and sat on the kitchen stool. He sat there for some time, staring at the kitchen counter, until he felt hungry. He stood up and walked over to the refrigerator door. He ripped the post-it note off the door and crumpled it in his hand, tossing it to the living room. He opened his cabinet and took his cereal, pouring it into his bowl. He sat down and ate his cereal. 

It had begun to rain.

\--

The next morning, John sat at his table, like nothing had happened. He was chattering on and on about how rain made his sister thirsty for some reason, and he always had to go and fetch her water bottles and how he hoped Dave could make it to the shindig where he would play his piano.

“You’re quieter than usual,” John said, sipping at his coffee. 

“Rain,” Dave said. “It does strange things to people.”

“And elevators! Ugh, is it just me, or are they taking way slower? I’ll probably just take the stairs at this rate, you know. Even though we live on the tippiest toppiest floor. Have you ever counted all the steps? It’s like, a gajillion. That’s a number. I made that a number.”

“That guy. Was he your date?” 

“Um…” John hesitated, hands wrapped around his warm mug. “No, I guess not? We just hung out and he knew it was a one night stand and stuff. It might turn into something, though! I might ask him out again, I dunno. He hasn’t called, but it hasn’t been that long, and—”

“That’s great.” So that was it. All he needed to do was say that John should date someone, and John would do it. He would run out and grab the next idiot off the street he could find. Dave knew that John was imperfect, he knew he was annoying and he had flaws, and these were his idiotic flaws. He listened too much. He had no brain. He wasn’t worth his time, he had a job that handled money and power and he was damn good at his job.

“Is something wrong, Dave?” 

There it was again. The open eyes. The complete listening. If he said anything, any damned thing, he was sure John would listen and even worse, reassure. He was always reassuring and cheerful and kind, and Dave had never realized the sickening effect. He could have told John about his arguments with Bro, the staggering market, even the fact that his pictures of birds seemed futzier than the ones before, and John would be there, hand and foot. Just stuffing his way into his life. 

And there was nothing wrong. That was the long and short of it. So John got horny and wanted to bang someone, the apartment door had places for locks and socks. None of it should matter to him. He wasn’t some idiot. He was important. He was better.

The red marks on John’s neck still stood out over the stiff collar. 

“I’ve got to go.” Dave grabbed his briefcase off the chair, leaving his breakfast untouched. John stood up, anxious with his brow knit, uncomprehending. 

“If I did something wrong, then you can tell me. Honest, Dave. I’m not—smart, I know that, but if I did something really stupid—”

“I just need to go.” 

Dave escaped, closing the door after himself and locking it. The image of John standing behind the kitchen stool, brow knit, long fingers draped over the counter, stuck with him. He pressed the button frantically for the elevator, though he knew John left later for his job. He was even tempted to take the stairs, but if the elevator grew slower with the rain, then the stairs grew slicker. Fortunately, the lift arrived quickly, and he slid into the elevator that had mirrors turning his own reflection back towards him.

It was a relief to step into the rain, umbrella hoisted up on his way to the car. His cell phone rang when he fumbled for his keys, and he opted to check his phone, first, under the pattering rain. The caller ID told him it was Rose, and he picked up the phone obligingly, even with his shoes getting soaked in the puddle.

“I think I’m going to say yes.” Rose’s voice sounded breathless and happy, and he had to smile. His librarian sister who had twenty pairs of violet cardigans was getting married. He kept his rhyming jabs to himself, letting his coat dampen where he leaned against his car. He could have slipped in, but he felt like the outside air was best when listening to his sister with so much unguarded cheer.

“It seems silly, now,” Rose was concluding in his ear, “that I was so afraid. Things must change.”

He found his eyes drawn to the top floor of the building, where he could see a balcony filled with John’s plants. His own balcony was empty, but he had left the curtains partially open. If he squinted through the blurry splotches the rain left on his shades, he thought he could see a shadow flickering in his room. If it was a ghost, he could only hope it was a happy one.

“Yeah,” he said. “Things must change. Congratulations, sis.” 

\--

Dave had always been remarkable at avoiding the unpleasant things in life, but he never thought he could dodge John with such swiftness. John didn’t come over anymore. He didn’t call. He didn’t even write, and Dave had begun to check his mail for that such nonsense from him. It seemed he finally managed to shake off John’s pursuing scent, and he felt terrible for all his efforts. 

Finally, he decided he should at least peek into John’s apartment. Check in. Neighborly duties. It wasn’t like he was worried, except that he was. He hadn’t shirked him with the thought that John must pursue, but there was something disappointing about the whole situation, anyway. He tried to reason with himself, that he was only checking in because there were guidelines tacked to the bulletin board about caring and sharing. 

But in reality, he had begun to feel sorry for himself. 

He wouldn’t say he was sorry about John. Not yet. But the lonely nights of watching television alone seemed to drift onwards and the days melded together at his work, just another joke at the water cooler, another insipid pile of liquids that seemed to call itself coffee. He ate cold cereal without milk for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he’d forgotten how pitiful that seemed against John’s cooking. Even when he played music from his speaker systems, the music just wasn’t the same as John’s chatterings. It was better, of course. But it was different. 

In some secret corner of his round heart, he knew he’d made an ass out of himself. John was barely his friend, and there’d been no reason to carry such a bad mood around with him, all day. By all logical perspectives, this shouldn’t even matter to him. But it must have been the worry about losing breakfast that unconsciously drove him. Rose was big on the unconscious, and he had tons of it. He didn’t have any breakfast now, though, and visiting John could only change that for the better. 

He opened the door to John’s apartment, stepping into the darkness. John must not have been home, but he closed the door behind him, anyway. He tried to make excuses for why he was there, like borrowing a cup of sugar or asking about the shindig. But there was really only one reason why he was still there. He wanted to make an honest apology. 

The light switch was only a few steps away. John’s room always showed a lack of taste, but it was comfortable. He couldn’t tell why, but even before John had unpacked, there was something nice surrounding the room. Now that he had managed to take out most of his things from cardboard boxes that leaned against the walls, it looked even more comfortable. The couch was perfectly lumpy in the most affectionate of ways, the posters hanging from the walls had creases on the sides, and everything seemed to have bright colors and rounded corners. He was still admiring the room when he heard a sound from the bedroom.

“Are you Dave?” 

The woman standing in front of the room had a box to her waist, full of John’s unfortunate clothing. She had a familiar face, but it wasn’t familiar in the same way the man’s face had been familiar. There was something about the sharp cut of her jaw and her large eyes beneath her glasses that seemed like something he just knew. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a tight ponytail, her pea green raincoat still dripping water over the hardwood floor. John wouldn’t have cared, though he might have insisted in a whiny voice for the woman to take off her high boots. But altogether, she radiated composure, consistency from her light green dress to the darker shades of the high waist belt. 

He finally mumbled his assent to his name, and her face broke out into a wide smile.

“Hi, Dave. My name’s Jade and I’m John’s sister. He’s told me so much about you!” She shook his hand, a firm handshake in comparison to Dave’s limp shake and his head nudge to look away. 

“You’re here to steal his stuff?”

“Oh! Oh, no, no no no.” Jade laughed brightly, and he could see the family resemblance. “I am here to fetch some clothes for John. And I have to feed his salamander! She’s really cute and I think she misses John.”

“Where is John?” Dave glanced around the room.

“Staying at my place for a few days. Poor John! He caught a cold, no less, but I insisted he come stay with me for a while. I feel really guilty, even though he says it’s not my fault.” Jade sighed, hand to her cheek. She gazed at Nick Cage, but Nick Cage’s mysterious eyes didn’t seem to hold any answers for her. 

“Guilty for what? Being a smooth criminal?”

“I’m not stealing! He asked. Well, he would have asked, eventually. No,” she said, correcting herself with her ponytail swinging, “But I’m guilty because I’m the one who asked him for a water bottle! And he never liked the elevators because of the funhouse mirrors or it was too slow or something and he took the stairs and then he fell and broke his fingers. Poor John!” 

Dave felt something cold go over him. He sat down on John’s couch, which seemed so chilly without someone around to lounge upon it. His stomach began to churn, uncomfortable and irritable, and he sank low to the pillows. His body was betraying him. He could feel goosebumps on his arms. It was in his head, now, that he had known about the stairs. He had known about the stairs and he hadn’t told John because he’d been busy, infuriated for no good reason, wrapped up in his selfish delusions. And now John had fallen down the stairs.

“I know he says it’s not my fault,” Jade was saying, pushing a stray shirt back into the box, “but I feel it is, anyway. I think with things like this, it doesn’t matter what anyone says if you still feel downright low. But I need to go, the train is leaving soon. It’s nice to meet you, Dave! I will bring back John soon.” 

Dave heard the door close. A chill lingered in the room, and he mechanically stood up to close the windows. The windows were already closed. 

He stood there, in the silent room, trying to find warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Your one stop shop](http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/animals/AnimalDetails.aspx?enc=wlXqL0lOsSwA3t2X1qsvxQ==) for more information about the pyramid butterflyfish. And due credit to princess tumblr user [vyco](http://vyco.tumblr.com/) for helping me out with some information. Thanks for all the fish.


	3. GET WELL SOON FARTMUNCHER

“Poor John!” 

Jade’s rallying cry took the apartment complex by storm. Whenever Dave slunk out to fetch his mail, the denizens of Skaia Apartments formed a sympathetic congregate, where they murmured amongst themselves. The apartment had placed signs all over the stairs, and Dave was forced to accept flowers on John’s behalf. He’d lived at the apartment long before John arrived, but he’d never met half his neighbors. John had not only met, but he had apparently befriended all of them. Cupcakes, flowers, balloons, and encouraging teddy bears filled John’s apartment.

John would return by the end of the week. Dave contemplated baking a Welcome Home cake, but the poor cake would be buried under the landslide of other gifts. Besides, the appropriate cake would have been Sorry I was an Ass and Forgot to Warn You about the Stairs, Dude. But he would have run out of icing long before he’d manage to fit those words into the creamy texture.

The guilt ate away at him. He had a chance. He had many chances to tell him about the stairs, and time and again, he’d been too busy sticking his head up his ass to tell him. His strange behavior about John’s sex life repulsed him. He needed to do better. He needed to be better. 

A day before John would return, he heard a knock on his door. He opened his front door to nobody, eyes falling on the side door in his living room. With a shrug and a saunter, he opened the side door, expecting Jade stopping by for another short visit and update about John’s health.

Jade was indeed there, in the background, hefting two big suitcases. But John was standing in the doorframe, hand in a cast, smile bright. Bags hung from under his eyes and he seemed more pallid, but his strength hadn’t left him. Before Dave even choked out a word, John dove for a bear hug, pulling him close and patting him on the back with his good hand.

“Hi, Dave,” he said. “Wow, you smell!” 

“I told John that he should stay with me longer, but he was bouncing off the walls. Though he should really stay with me. At least one more day. If not forever.” Jade sulked, opening a suitcase on a couch beside a particularly bountiful basket of violets from the emotional family three floors down. 

“Creepy. I haven’t seen you in so long, Dave, jeez. It’s been forever. You should sign my cast, I left space for you.” John dragged him inside the apartment, and Dave was left floundering in the middle of the room while John ran off to find a marker. 

“John insisted on coming back early. Will you check on him sometimes? It would mean a lot to me.” Jade swept her hair over her shoulder, briskly tying the lower end with colorful rubber bands. Dave felt more at ease with Jade than John, nowadays. He associated her with comfort. He associated John with the heavy penance of guilt.

“Yeah, no big. Take him out for a walk, feed him three times a week. Neighbor stuff.”

“Thanks, cool kid.” She patted the couch for him to take a seat. When he did, she bumped his shoulder affectionately, her eyes wide underneath her round glasses. 

“How’s he been? You can tell it to me straight, doc.” He bumped her right back, and she fell into soft, affectionate giggles.

“Oh! He’s getting better, but I’m a worrywart about my brother, you know.” She tapped her finger to her nose, eyes getting criss-crossed following her painted nails. “I’ll come by when I can. And I will definitely, definitely, definitely be there when they take out the pins from his fingers.”

“You’re talking about me behind my back. Kind of gross!” John sat on the table in front of them, holding out the marker. His blue cast had already been covered with bright signatures and small drawings, but true to his word, he’d left a small space remaining.

“You already signed your Jane Hancock on here?” Dave asked Jade, taking the marker. He had a jutting handwriting, signing his small GET WELL SOON FARTMUNCHER and his signature. 

“Yes! John, you didn’t tell me your neighbor was so nice.” Jade poked John in the ribs, and he laughed and twisted to get away.

“It’s a front. In reality, we hate each other,” Dave said. He capped off the marker and placed it straight along the table. Jade tickled John a few more times, leaving off with a satisfied sigh and leaning against the couch. She crossed her arms behind her head, seeming unwilling to leave. Though she seemed all smiles and cheer, Dave suspected she was watching him and inspecting him. She appeared ready to approve of him, an inclination of liking her brother’s friend, but she had a no-nonsense air around her that said she loved bullshitting but not bullshitting about the serious things. He was grateful to her, for many things. For telling him about John’s condition and not asking why he couldn’t call John. For hauling the buckets of water out to the balcony to water the plants. He wasn’t thankful, though, that she appeared to take the opportunity to add a few more plants to the mix. Still, he submitted himself into her evaluation. 

“Dave will take good care of me, don’t worry. He works with math.”

“Stocks,” he said. 

“Important math,” John clarified. 

“John’s been a pain in the ass for however long he’s lived here. I’ll repay the favor. Can’t cook chicken soup for the soul, but I can cook chicken soup for chickens.” Dave weaved his fingers together, but this was enough. Jade rewarded him with a smile. Perhaps she was only looking for someone to appreciate her brother, or perhaps she really liked chickens. Her subtle approval swelled something prouder inside of him despite his rebellious teenage sullen attitude. 

Once satisfied that John was in good hands, she eased her way out. John chided her for wearing dirty shoes inside his apartment, Dave received a hug, and she left in a while. John was nodding off, but he insisted on at least making a hearty dinner for the both of them on his first night home.

“I hope you like ramen,” John said, turning on the microwave. “Because I think that’s all I can make with—this.” He hoisted up his cast.

Without Jade in the room, Dave found his guilt more difficult to quell. 

“Maybe I should start making dinner. For—us.” 

“No offense, Dave, but you haven’t cooked since the Stone Age. They invented wheels before you started cooking. Your first meal was a mammothadon.”

“No, wrong, not a real animal. I can cook.” Dave twisted his fingers together, mind working quick. “And I’ll chip in, pay for half the groceries. When’s the last time you cooked a meal for one person?”

“When’s the last time you cooked! Ever!” 

“And I’ll help around the house until you get that cast off. Laundry, and… carrying things with two hands.” 

“Yes, Dave. Two hand carry is an Olympics sports. Dude, I’m even going back to work soon. It’s nice of you and all, but I don’t need nothin’ because I am perfectly fine.” John patted his arm with his cast, a gentle obtuse thump. Dave endured.

“Nope. I told your sister I would take care of you. Don’t even whine, you’re getting me for a butler until you get that cast off and those pins out.” 

“A Dave butler.” John considered this, mulling it over. “So, if I told you that you had to jump up and down fifty times, you’d have to do it because you’re under the super secret butler contract?”

“No, but I’ll pick up your mail for you.”

“No deal.”

“Done deal.” Dave stood up to open the microwave door, serving out the noodles. “Now let’s eat the shit out of the ramen.” 

He’d had the food before, but it seemed to taste better now. It must have been the flavor packets. Either way, the small meal was surprisingly satisfying, and John talked for another hour about his adventures with the hospital jello and how Jade’s house was so filled with astronomy charts that at night, he would often walk into the posters when he thought they were open doors. But the trip had taken its toll. He yawned more and more until Dave shuffled him off to the bedroom for a good night’s sleep. 

He would tell John about his omission about the stairs tomorrow.

Or maybe never, whichever one came first.

\--

“No, Dave, you are doing the eggs all wrong.”

“You suck crapbutt at sorting the laundry, Dave!”

“I can water the plants myself, Dave, I am not a big ugly baby like you!” 

John was a micromanager. Dave had to attend his fair share of corporate meetings back in his heyday, where he doodled on his yellow notepads. After ten meetings, he had already begun to perfect the most amazing drawing to end all drawings, an amalgamation of phallic objects and plush rumps, genitals everywhere. It was perfection. But in his half-hearted listening, he did manage to discern something about micromanagement, and John was definitely that. That as in a micromanager, not a whirlwind of plush rumps.

He actually found John’s nitpicking amusing. Sometimes he deliberately did it wrong, hovering the reds above the whites in the laundry pile and hearing John’s audible pained yelp as he saved him from the pink avengers. John trailed behind him at the grocery store, smacking his hand at the cereal boxes and yanking him towards the obnoxious green glow of the vegetables. And John did make the most amusing puffed up faces when he was annoyed, squinting his eyes at him in suspicious glances.

Surprisingly, the least amusing part of the work wasn’t even the work. The weather had turned fully into fall, whipping crisp breezes and auburn leaves down the streets. John, tapping into the world wide weather, turned tired and listless. Though he did return to work, the cast seemed to trap him in a coagulated state. Dave told himself that it wasn’t his fault. That worked as well as he expected. 

He returned from the laundry room with a pile of fresh laundry, which usually cheered John’s spirits for whatever reason. John sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, scratching absently at his cast, staring at a wall.

Listlessly staring at a wall was definitely a good sign for good cheer.

“Up and at ‘em. Time to fold your Hawaiian shirts and short shorts. I’ll probably do it all wrong, fold it crosswise instead of upwise.” The threat of wrong folding didn’t appear to rouse John immediately, though he did struggle with a small smile. He lead the way into John’s room to start pulling the shirts out of the basket and fold them onto the bed, letting John help with his peculiar small movements that came when the rest of his arm was utterly useless in this vital task.

An upside of being John’s underutilized butler was that he finally managed to scout out his entire room in the light, and it was terrible. The posters spread like a persistent virus to his bedroom, where the ghost patterned bedsheets truly screamed adult. But as he suspected, everything that John owned had a worn out comfort about it. This wasn’t the ass prints of a reclusive adult, but well loved objects that were barely usable but more than beloved. Dave had refurnished his own bedroom into a sophisticated yet erotic wine red (according to himself, and nobody else), but John’s bedroom had a pale blue glow surrounding it. Dave had to admit it was somewhat pleasant. 

“I’m awesome at folding clothes,” Dave said. “Look at this. World class folding. Come here and don’t tell me this isn’t awesome folding.”

“Yeah, Dave, it’s awesome folding.” John rolled his eyes, but he did pause to glance at Dave’s handiwork.

“Hell yeah it is.”

“Isn’t begging for compliments kinda negating the point of compliments? Just saying, dude.” 

“Hell no it doesn’t. What’s good is good, and this is damn good. This is Olympic level folding. This folding just broke all the world records. This shirt is the new sports champion, #1 sports, this is it.” Dave preened as John finally chuckled. It didn’t matter if compliments were solicited or not, in his not so humble opinion. He enjoyed other people telling him that he did a good job, because damn right he did.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep folding, fold master.” John rolled his eyes, magnified by his glasses.

“Too bad your clothes are so shitty for the fold master. Do you even own a good suit?” 

“I rent plenty of great suits!” 

“You wouldn’t know good fashion if a monkey threw it in your face.” 

“Um, yes I would! I own like three ties, and one of them has a tie pattern on the tie. That’s class, Dave. That is real life class.”

“That’s real life ass.” Dave creased a t-shirt with expert precision. “After you get your cast off, I’ll take you out to buy a real suit. Try not to be an embarrassment.”

“Sure.” John beamed. “If you’re not busy after this, maybe I can show you some of my ties, figure out how to get a suit that best matches my mustache tie.”

“One, hell no. Two, kinda busy. Have to do my own laundry.”

“Why don’t you just do your laundry with mine?”

“Our intimates tangling together in a soap laden embrace? Give some thought to my innocent heart, why don’t you.” He tried to give his tone some acidity, but he was half afraid the sudden flush to his cheeks would betray him. He didn’t even handle John’s undies as it were, and now they were suddenly taking things up where their intimates would get intimate? It wasn’t like he didn’t date. He dated. He was handsome and his sister took him out to parties and he ran a blog. He’d just never dated so long to the laundry together stage. But never had his underaroos do a dance with another pair of underaroos without him. It seemed like this was a very big step, and John was just smiling idly like an idiot. 

“I was going to rent a suit,” John said. “For my performance and stuff.” 

Dave folded the shorts and tried to keep his cool, thoughts of laundry flying out of his head. They’d never really talked about the cast situation, but John seemed to have reached a melancholic mood that had ascended up into soulful reminiscing. 

“You’re sad about missing it?” he asked, low and cool.

“Nah. Well, maybe. But I got to hang out with my sister and that’s pretty fun. Even though she’s a total pain.” John scrunched his nose in amusement, grin broadening across his face. But his hand dropped back to his cast, rubbing around the solid area around his wrist and trailing down to his fingertips. 

“You’ll be back in shape in no time. Just hack that thing off with a chainsaw and you’re back in the piano seat, playing Ghostbusters tunes or whatever the hell you play.”

“Yeah, probably,” John said, in the tone that positive people used to say negative things.

“You don’t think so?” 

“Probably.” John folded his hand over his cast with a strange delicacy, knuckles tenting over the plaster. “Nah, it’ll be fine. I’m just all cranky because Jade has a hells of a nice bed and now it’s hard to sleep on a rotten one.” 

“It’s rotten to the core. You should sleep in my bed sometime, it’s like cloud city.”

“Sleep in your bed?” John’s grin widened. “That’s some innocent heart you got there, boy.”

“Shut up, farthole. You wish you could get a piece of this hot ass.” Dave felt the familiar flush spreading over his face, and he busied himself over balling socks and shoving them unceremoniously into the drawer. 

“I will stay out of your perfectly coiffed hair, mister. You can always leave a sock on the door.” John passed him the single shirt he’d been folding the entire time, taking a rest to massage his wrist. Dave felt suddenly conscientious that this was the room where John had taken that man in the coffee shop. The thought rushed into his mind before he could hold up a shield, and it pricked him whole. He hastened with the folding and shoving into the drawers.

“I didn’t mean it as a sex thing,” he finally mumbled, faced with the empty basket. 

“Duh! You are way too good lookin’ for a guy like me.”

“Damn straight.” But he wished he had more laundry to fold so his hands weren’t so idle. Instead, his fingers curled over the rim of the basket and he hesitated. He wouldn’t say John was handsome, but even with his recent sickly complexion, John wasn’t ugly. There was a firm cheerfulness to his face and a kind slope of his brows, and a pleasing inclination for his mouth to smile. He wouldn’t say John was good looking, but there was nothing drastically unbecoming of him. 

“But,” he finally said, “I wouldn’t rule it out. You’re not—super ugly. Just kinda ugly. And even if you were ugly as shit, you’re—nice. You know what? Shut up and fold your damn clothes. Shut up.” 

He busied himself with stuffing the rest into the drawers, but he was keenly aware how John was looking at him. John always had affectionate glances, but this one seemed more thoughtful and hopeful, eyebrows drawn together. When Dave reached over to grab a folded shirt, his knuckles brushed against John’s, and John drew back quickly, face red. He must have startled him, but he didn’t dare look.

Dave had done his deeds for the day, though, and he was suitably reassured that John had cheered up at the thought of the shopping expedition. John might not have looked forward to the world of good fashion as much as Dave did, but thinking himself trapped in his apartment wouldn’t do him any favors. Dave took his leave and tried to fill his head with figures from the Caden account, cool numbers without any emotions, especially none that he couldn’t define.

\--

Dave had been raised by a man he admired, who had as many swords as plastic forks and never relied on anyone else. His brother had grown wealthy from ludicrous pornographic websites, and they ate sushi off paper plates. But the Strider side of the Strider-Lalonde family didn’t do long goopy speeches about love. There were the pats on the back, the exceptional Christmas presents, and maybe even a nod in good weather. But long speeches, never. He admired, perhaps more than he should have, the solitary quietness of the relationship. Even at a young age, he kept to himself, writing raps and drawing webcomics. He had friends in the distant, unconnected fashion, who still updated their Facebook with pictures of their new babies. He didn’t envy them. Babies drooled.

He developed a knack for the stock market at a young age, and entered into the throbbing and unwelcome Wall Street with a red carpet tucked under his arms. He hadn’t been brimming with confidence, but self-assurance. At first, he burned with energy, a long lasting fire for some years that had him knuckling down on cold calls at early hours in the morning and later hours in the night, bracing himself for every hiccup in the market that would send his stomach spiraling downwards. He got better at his job. His independent nature evolved into something sharper, more isolated and driven to get the best insider tips. His bold moves still took risks, but with some intelligence. In some blinks of an eye, he found himself with a glass corner office facing the honking cars below. He gained respect and a new coffee mug. He had enough liquid capital to buy a big honking mansion if he so desired, but he found himself not so desiring. 

Having spent his early childhood in a penthouse apartment, he searched for a good neighborhood and a nice apartment space. Nothing appealed to him, so he chose one at random that seemed stately enough, the only inconvenience being a small door in the wall. He was satisfied, and Rose was not. 

Rose had contacted him over Facebook as his birth sister, and she was his friend. His one friend, the only one he could claim any equal share over her heart. As a rule, she spoke with honesty and decorum, surveying his new apartment with a critical eye. Her hand ran along the line of pearls around her neck, lips pursed in thought.

“You want to be as independent as your brother,” she said, “But even he had you. Don’t lock yourself away, love. You might forget.” 

“Forget what?”

To this, Rose’s answer was curt: “Humans.” 

With all her claims of unearthliness, as Dave always suspected she was a Lovecraftian craft, she had recently been busy with her arrangements for her wedding. Dave relented in his barrage of phone calls to her, though not for her sake. Her words had come back to haunt him, his awkward realizations at how his temperament needed more social care than he realized. Phone calls to his beloved sister, begging for advice, might come off the wrong way. Such as making her realizing she was beloved, or recognizing that he was begging for advice. 

When John had erupted into his life, with all the eloquence of a Lion King stampede, it had been acceptable. John cared, but he was obtuse. He did things his way, barging his way into his kitchen and living room with obstinate boldness. He may talk, but Dave never had to listen. But with John’s broken fingers, John was no longer as mobile. He stayed in his own apartment and in the budding weeks, everything he did was slow and seemingly painful. He constantly scratched at his cast with a resigned cheerfulness. And Dave now regretted he never learned how to associate with people. Or, as Rose so designated, humans.

John’s care required a delicacy he never learned. Everything Dave did was behind a screen, behind the safety of a camera or the mask of a joke. Everything John did was painfully sincere. After the first avalanche of ridiculing him for his honesty, Dave had to admit that he had no defenses for it. 

He’d finished with his newest specialty, scrambled eggs cooked over broken culinary dreams, when he turned to serve it on the plates. John had been sitting at the table, but the dim lights of his apartment had cast strange shadows over his face. He was touching at where the cast reached all the way to his fingers with a strange delicacy, and Dave thought, this was a moment. This was a moment where he should say something, but he found himself speechless. 

He set the plates down on the table, and the moment was over. John was all attentive and pleasing speech. Dave had all the wit and sardonic jokes on his side, but he felt incompetent. John didn’t refer to his cast and Dave didn’t direct his attention towards it, unable to even choke out an apology when he was surrounded by the gift baskets. The topic was dropped that had never begun. Though John was compliant and eager to please him, face blooming with thankfulness towards his shitty breakfast despite his complaints, Dave felt, with a sinking feeling, all of Rose’s gentle reprimands when the paint hadn’t even dried in his apartment. 

He had friends who he only remembered through baby pictures. He dated without feeling heartbroken. He sat across the table from John, and he couldn’t say anything worth a damn. 

But though his nature was prone to long fits of sulking, he had earned his glass office with the burning determination that still flickered inside him. 

“You don’t have to clean my apartment, you know,” John said, quirking his mouth into a smile. “Even I don’t do spring cleaning. My spring cleaning is kinda never cleaning. And it’s fall now.” 

“It’s fall and you should put on a damn jacket.” Dave wiped down the top of the shelf, sleeves rolled up and hands smearing in the grime. He was on top of a ladder, busy with wiping down the abandoned snowglobes on the top shelves and above. Despite all his adamant claims that John should shut the fuck up and just watch television, John trailed behind him with a bucket of water. 

“I’m not cold! And you’re doing way too much for me. I broke a couple of fingers, jeez, not my whole arm.” 

“You get colds too easy. Don’t sass me, I friended your sister on FB. She’s been sending me pictures all day.” Dave dropped down the ladder, tossing the cloth into the bucket, moving off to ask not what the bathroom could do for him, but what he could do to clean the bathroom. 

“What! No! Why did you friend Jade? You don’t need to friend Jade. You know what? I came up with this great idea, just right now. You should unfriend her. Unfriend her now.”

“No can do. We’re best buddies. Tight as hell, tighter than a linebacker’s football end, it’s the ninth inning, gotta shoot that hoop—”

John lunged forward, abandoning his faithful bucket of water in favor of hugging him around his middle, patting down for Dave’s cell phone in his front pocket. Dave let out an uncharacteristic characteristic yelp, trying to free himself from the flurry of hands against his sides. For a guy with one good hand, John seemed to be multiplying his hands everywhere, patting him down furiously for the phone and the unfriending with hand and cast alike. But Dave had the upper hand of launching himself down on the couch, refusing to let him slide out his phone. 

“She sent me this great picture—of this dweeb, playing Tree #5 in the—play—”

“It was Tree #3 and shut up, dicklord!” Even peeking behind his shoulder, Dave could see John’s face had grown bright red, his furious attacks for the phone increasing. “And I was fucking good at it!” 

“Your fucking costume, Jesus Christ,” and Dave was laughing so hard that he was wheezing, “with those dumbass branches and that fucking tree song and dance—”

“The Melody of the Pine Trees was a really moving song!” 

“It was fucking based on that shitty teapot song—” 

Dave was laughing too hard to put up a good defense. John wrangled the phone out of his hands, sliding down to the foot of the couch and protectively crouching to press the buttons. Though Dave had started to use Facebook more, he still mostly used it at work and had logged out accordingly. John sighed, defeated, letting the phone fall to the carpet. Dave held his sides together, trying to stop laughing from the vivid tinny video of a young John doing the shittiest tree song in the world. He was pushing his shades up to wipe the tears from his eyes, trying to fix his hair, when he caught sight of John leaning against the sofa and having a strange amused smile on his face, despite all the resignation of his shoulders slumping.

“Sup,” Dave said, slightly raspy from his laughing. He raised himself up onto his elbow, and John snorted.

“I’ve just never seen you laugh that hard.” John regarded him with a strange tenderness, his face red. “Looks good on you.” 

Dave flushed and immediately clamped his mouth shut, running his hand over his hair again to try and smooth down his carefully perfected look of not spending any time on his hair. John, however, persistent and sincere, crawled over to him in a somewhat limp, cast pressed tight over his rumpled shirt. He had an easy going grin, touching Dave’s cheek and pulling it upward for a half smile. 

“Go away,” Dave mumbled, gaze dropping to the threadbare carpet. Even though the shades protected his eyes, John seemed to see through them in perfect clarity.

“Your face is all red.” John’s voice, breathless, had dropped to a quieter tone. 

He was conscious of lying on the couch, the way John’s fingers played delicately over his warm skin. His touch was even warmer, if that was possible, fingertips burning and leaving behind tingling sensations rushing to his face when he slid them down to his jaw. John’s fingers seemed shy to touch him, as if asking for permission to venture any closer, curling down. He wasn’t looking at John’s face, but he could see the lines of his body leaning towards him, posture open and unguarded. John’s breath, quiet, breezed by his ear. They were close, closer than he could remember ever being to another person. John’s smell, John’s touch, John’s sounds all surrounded him, but he wasn’t suffocating. John was looking at him in such a strange way, he could see glimpses of oddly bright eyes and a blush arising on his cheeks, and his face burned too hot to look back. 

But his gaze caught sight of the cast, and he drew back.

It was a slight motion, but John acquiesced, dropping his hand to his knee. When Dave finally managed to look him in the face, he wasn’t surprised to see John smiling at him, almost beaming. His face was red, but he seemed honestly happy. Dave tried to say something, anything important, but it was lost in his voice. 

“I’ll go put on a jacket.” John pats him on the cheek, rising up to go to his bedroom and running out faster than necessary. Dave hurries to sit up, trying to look professional, but his clothes are askew and his hair is a wreck and the flush on his face refuses to ebb. Autumn had already arrived, but he was late to chase it. 

\--

Jade stopped by in the early morning, arranging with John to drive him to the hospital to get his pins taken out in a few weeks. She insisted that John stay with her for a while after that, and she seemed to be looking towards Dave for permission, which he easily granted and reassured he would feed Casey at all the appropriate times. He’d even put it on his planner, which had little other business operations. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said, having taken Dave out for early coffee at a cafe, “but I live closer to the hospital and you’ve already done so much! And John’s so careless, I have to take care of him.”

“I haven’t really done anything.” Dave swilled down the coffee that he had made himself, enjoying the strong taste. He’d moved his coffee maker to John’s kitchen, especially given John’s recent malaise. It was efficient for him, as well, since he would wake up early, get dressed, and make breakfast. John’s hollow insistence that car was faster than train actually proved true for his own workplace, and he dropped John off every morning in front of the marble building with good will and pumped full of coffee. 

“Nonsense, mister,” she said, “I can’t remember the last time I’ve actually seen you in your own apartment.”

He began to protest, but with a start, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time meeting her in his own apartment. He wouldn’t personally consider himself very helpful to John, other than the odd laundry run and mealtime cooking. But the ass prints on his couch had receded significantly, and with a furrow in his brow, he couldn’t even recall the last time he had sat on his couch to watch his shows. Everything seemed filled with trying to learn recipes that he could implement, busying John around to wear warmer clothes in colder weather, and simply doing all the chores that John couldn’t.

“It’s nice for John to have friends,” Jade said, tipping her cup. 

“I thought he had friends. Seems like the type.”

“I mean nice friends! He lets people walk all over him sometimes, and he’s an idiot with boundary lines. I’m still so sorry he walks into your apartment like that.”

Dave murmured some reassurance, but his head was still trying to comprehend John letting anyone walk over him. The image of John bustling around the kitchen was too strong. There must be things a sister’s love could speak with more tenderness than acuity, though he had to admit, there were also things a sister must know best. Despite living so close to John that he could almost feel Nick Cage’s gloomy stare through his walls, he still found Jade’s knowledge as a treasure trove of intimate wealth. 

“You don’t believe me?” Jade asked, toying with green necklace and arching her eyebrow.

“John isn’t really a pushover. He won’t even let me buy Doritos with our grocery money.” Dave still smarted from that loss. He’d wanted Doritos, but John had pushed him towards the vegetable aisle, claiming baby carrots were the world’s Doritos. They really were not the world’s Doritos. But John had relented with corn chips, and all was forgiven for the day.

“I guess I can see it!” Jade chewed on her lower lip. “I really do worry too much about him. Don’t I?”

“I’d wish my sister would worry like that if I ever broke my hand in an extreme chili accident,” Dave said with all the awkward warmth he could muster, earnest and averting his eyes, “She didn’t return my last thirty calls, literally. You’re doing a good job.”

“Don’t leave her thirty calls!” Jade laughed, nudging his cup towards him. “No, no, no, I worry too much about my brother. He’s an adult! A grown adult.”

“Not an ungrown adult. Mad props.”

“I just worry because he doesn’t seem to have a lot of… confidence?” Jade’s hand circled around her necklace again. 

Dave could agree, though with less thoughtfulness her statement had inspired in herself. He’d never considered himself as a confident person, but next to John, he saw it was different for someone who lacked it. Dave was self-assured in himself, and he found it perfectly reasonable to seek affirmations from those around him. If he told a story of his glory to Rose, it was only in the full expectations of her reluctant congratulations. He actively looked for John’s approval, preening under his compliments to his work ethic. But John seemed to lack the core of confidence, never seeking out compliments but still without the self-assurance of deserving them.

“He’s doing fine,” he said, and he hoped it was the right thing to say. He felt all the awkwardness of the situation, but he was thankful to John’s family being so approving. She smiled at him, leaning forward at the table. 

“I know! I know, he’s fine. His dad was always so reassuring and proud of him and it was really sweet.” 

“Really?” The question slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself, and he found himself continuing, spurred by Jade’s raised eyebrow. “Nothing, just—John sounded like he wasn’t all secure in the. Relationship. With his dad. Father. Paternal figure.” 

“They seem really close! But I guess I don’t really know him,” Jade said, wrapping her hands around her mug, “I wish I did! But it’s just in things like that, you know? Everything is going on fine and suddenly he is all… What does he say? ‘Bluh bluh, he ain’t good at all at nothin’ or something like that? I think he’s afraid of doing wrong in relationships and stuff like that. If something doesn’t work out once, he might not try again. But I don’t know him that well, I guess…” 

“Worst John imitation ever.” Dave chose not to pick at the scab, interest already caught on something else. “I thought you knew John best. Being his sister.” 

“Do I? That would be nice! I think we are close. I was raised by my grandpa until he passed, but once I moved in, John seemed so happy to have a sister. But it’s hard to get to really know people, you know?” Jade crossed her fingers together. “Can you know them just because you see them everyday? Or do you need to see them in the moments that matter?”

“You’re getting sewage drain deep over that two buck croissant that’s leaking through the table.”

“I am,” Jade said, releasing her fingers and grabbing a wad of napkins to sop up her croissant. “I don’t want to wake John up from his nap, but tell him I stopped by. Oh, I should get a doggy bag for him, he likes coffee and things.”

“He’s not a dog.”

“Didn’t I see you leave him a doggy bag from your last restaurant business meeting?”

“Get a tiny cake, he gets so mad at tiny cake.”

They walked back to the apartment. He’d open the door to his apartment first to let John sleep, but he was strangely aware how new his own apartment seemed to him. He hadn’t actually been inside for anything but to sleep and dress in a while. Jade waited for him to put the bag in the refrigerator, but her eyes were already skimming his photographs. 

“They’re nice,” she said as he joined her. He’d put somewhat of his best work on display, using the digital picture frame to set up a slideshow for his newest ones. He’d been taking more pictures lately, finding something soothing and pleasurable in the strong lines and sharp contrast of the world. A crow against a sunset. Fishes swimming in the aquarium tank. A close-up of one of John’s plants in the balcony. He kept most of his pictures of John in the card rather than on display, but his presence was spread throughout the slideshow. There were the faint reminders of him in the aquarium pictures, where he’d brought Dave and helped him pick the best settings, to the ones in the parks where John had been horsing around behind him, to even the visible traces of John laughing at him with the broad landscape spilling out behind him. 

“They’re very you,” she said, nodding slowly to herself.

“And how am I like?”

He was so used to Rose’s brutally honest answers that he was taken aback by the silence. Jade was more thoughtful, contemplative, hand to her necklace and eyes scanning over the trim of the feathers in the photographs.

“I remember the way John first described you,” she said, “He said you were nice and kind and funny, but sometimes you looked sad and alone and needed a friend. It’s something like that, I think.”

“That could describe anyone.” He couldn’t remember a time when he had looked sad in front of John. Angry, yes. Keen on poison, yes. Frustrated like a shaken up soda bottle, definitely. But sad, no. He wondered, briefly, with a strange sensation of vulnerability, what else John had seen in him.

“It just reminds me of that. Do you think I could have a few of your pictures to hang up in my office? I’ll pay you, of course. They’re very nice.”

“What do you even do? Don’t want my shit to hang in a boring office, makes me look like less of a youthful bad boy.” 

“Didn’t John tell you?” 

“You work in a museum with plants and stuff?”

“Exactly,” Jade said, satisfied, “I’m the director of the Museum of Science in the downtown area. He’s getting quite better with job titles nowadays.”

Not that good.

\--

His turntables weren’t working. 

He hadn’t actually used them in a while, but he’d been passing by the room with his mug of coffee when he spotted them out of the corner of his eyes. He picked selected a record, put the tone arm on, and pressed start. Nothing happened. The tone arm was fine. The button was fine. He tried another record. Nothing happened. He was gentle. He blew off any dust. He cleaned off the table. An hour passed, and it wouldn’t work.

By then, he was late in driving John to the grocery store, so he picked up the pace to get dressed and hurried over to his apartment to meet him. He opened the side door to the grocery bags already on the table, John sorting through the chips with relentless furor. When he heard the door open, he glanced up, grin bright.

“Morning, sunshine. Did you oversleep?” 

“Yeah.” He sat down at the table, tugging absently at the lapels of his suit. “How’d you get all this up here by yourself?”

“There’s a grocery store across the street! I just don’t usually buy stuff from there ‘cuz their stuff isn’t all that fresh, but chips and stuff isn’t that bad.” John tossed a Doritos bag to his chest, turning away to sort the rest into his cupboards. Dave immediately opened it, hand digging through the chips and instantly coating his fingers in alarmingly orange dust. He was deep in thought, crunching on his chips and sucking at his fingers, when he realized John had been trying to talk to him.

“So what do you think?” John folded the bag, tucking it away.

“Um. Yeah. I don’t know, I wasn’t listening to your jabbering mouth.” He meant to slide it in as a joke, but it sounded strangely out of place and more insulting than he realized. John, relaxed as always, only smiled.

“Something wrong?” 

“No. Come on, I’ll take you for a walk. Promised Jade I’d do it three times a day and she’d let me keep you.”

“Okay, okay, but feed Casey for me.” John started to scuttle off, but Dave caught him by his flexible arm and pulled him back.

“Buttons,” he said in answer to the silent question, absently unbuttoning John’s shirt. John took his time with buttons with one hand, but he’d miss a button and everything had turned askew. Dave smoothed down the shirt, abstractly thinking he should start ironing John’s things, when John caught him by the wrist. 

“You sure nothing’s wrong? You’re like, a huge fashion person. Super fashion. Fashionista. You wouldn’t wait until now to say make fun of me.”

“I just overslept,” he said, pulling away reluctantly. He quickened the buttoning, knuckles brushing against the muscles of his chest. He had to admit John had muscle, enough muscle to make him envious. Smoothing down his shirt, he finished buttoning and retreated to feed Casey. He had grown fond of the small salamander. She understood him in ways no man ever could.

“Come on, slowpoke.” John pulled him out to the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently until they reached the ground floor. Dave had started the habit of taking walks, which he had previously viewed as ridiculous. But John had played sedentary in his room, which Dave would have gladly overlooked if his previous lifestyle hadn’t been so active. John seemed happier after they took walks. So like any good neighbor, he took John out for walks and occasionally brought a Frisbee to play in the park. 

“Your pictures are turning out really nice,” John said, hand resting over his cast. “I heard Jade got a few framed for her office. Which ones did she take?”

“What?” Dave swiveled around to glance at him, trying to refocus. “I don’t know. Probably one with your huge ugly face on it. All blown up, poster size, all pretty like.” He found himself trailing off, unable to get a good grasp about the subject. He’d been busy thinking about the turntables, and it showed. John had the strange little furrow in his brow that always occurred when he was worried, and he was worried now, watchful.

“So,” he said, trying to take his mind off the worry, “I showed you all my pretty pictures, too. You like any so far?” 

“You know I like them all!” 

“You have to say which ones blow your pea brained mind. Can’t say the dick pics.”

“There were no dick pics, shh!” John glanced around, worried about any innocent bystanders. Dave chuckled under his breath, reaching over to tug John’s scarf closer to the edge of his throat. Even Jade had thought he’d done a particularly good job this season of keeping John relatively healthy and alive. Dave took pride in his ability to keep people alive.

“Tell me,” he commanded. John rolled his eyes and sighed, making a show of it, but he could tell John already given in. He hooked his arm into John’s, and John laughed.

“I don’t know! I like them because they’re all you.”

“Your sister said the same thing.”

“Gross, don’t compare me to Jade. She stinks.” John pondered, glancing at his reflection in the store windows. “It just makes me happy to see them, you know? That’s how I know it’s you.”

“Sounds like you’re hitting on me.” 

John didn’t say anything, but he must have felt warm under the scarf because his entire face was blushing. Dave loosened his scarf, and John seemed thankful for that. He must have been more fatigued than he was letting on, because he slowly leaned his head against his shoulder. Dave was more than sturdy enough to support him, but he slowed his pace to not disturb him.

“You’ve been really cool lately. And I’m saying that because you’re not always cool. Most of the time you’ve been the opposite of cool, but, I dunno.” John peered at him carefully, cheerful. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“I didn’t do anything.” 

“No, dumbass, you did a lot. You drive me to work, you cook, you clean, and it’s actually really nice of you to do all that. Just for your neighbor dude.”

“You did all that for me. Before.”

“You know that doesn’t count!”

“Count for what? Is there some huge floating metaphysical scoreboard out there?” Dave mocked glanced up at the low overhanging clouds, leading John to snort and nudge him on the arm. “At least I’m winning.”

“Shut up. Once I get out of this—cast—” John’s voice dipped slightly, a hesitation, but he recovered quickly with a faster smile. “Then I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“I don’t want to watch another Nick Cage marathon.” Dave sobered solemnly. “I had nightmares about his floating face.”

“What about—”

“No Jodie Foster, no Matt McConaughey, hell fucking no to Bill Cosby, no anybody in a movie. You really want to make it up to me, you start making breakfast from now on.”

“Aw, no. I was getting used to burnt toast!” 

Dave snorted, though he didn’t have a comeback for that. They had been burnt. They had been burnt quite badly. He tried to scrape off the charred part and ended up with a hole in the middle of the charcoal. But it came to him, reluctantly, and slowly, that he should tell John. It was the time, but all the awkwardness had returned to him, and he was sensitive to the ways he’d never been good at intimate words. A simple nudge or a solemn nod would do him no good. Sometimes words needed to be there, and he felt them thick in his throat, even when he tried to swallow.

“I’m sorry about your hand,” he said, staring at the passing pavement. “And how you couldn’t play.” 

“Um, that’s okay. Thanks. I mean, things turned out all good.” John seemed mildly quizzical, but not intrusive. He could let the topic drop, but something ate inside him. He’d nearly forgotten about his guilt, the thing that had driven him forward to tend to John but had replaced with something like genuine care. It was disgusting. He swallowed rapidly.

“I haven’t been… I mean, it’s just… Shit.” Dave ran his fingers through his hair nervously, raking it to the side. “I broke your hand.”

“Yes, you did,” John said immediately, “I saw you push me down the stairs as part of your nefarious schemes to be the one to cook breakfast every morning. You wanted your scrambled eggs to be the one egg to rule them all, the one egg to find them.”

“No. Stop. Shut up. Stop quoting Lord of the Rings. It’s—I was going to tell you. That the stairs were wet. And I didn’t.” Dave hung his head heavily, and he regretted how lost his words seemed. He tried to impress on him the proper gravity of the situation without excuses but without misrepresentation, and he was doing it all wrong. He felt something hurt, deep in his chest, straining to make things right, and he couldn’t tell what he was feeling. But he could tell John was thoughtful without any eagerness to blame.

“Did you want me to fall down the stairs?”

“No!” Dave gripped his arm tighter, trying his best to make his words fight through. “I just—forgot.”

“People forget, Dave. Shit happens. Sith happens.”

“Stop quoting Star Wars. No, stop referencing… No.” Dave massaged his forehead, feeling himself weakening under John’s perpetual cheer. “I was distracted. Because you slept with that dude. It doesn’t even matter, he was just some dude who smelled like beans and I got—I wasn’t thinking straight. I knew about it and I didn’t tell you, and it’s my fault. I didn’t tell you earlier because—I don’t know.”

“It’s still not your fault,” John said, but it sounded automatic. John appeared to be thinking, looking into boutique shops without really looking, but his thoughts didn’t seem to be blaming him, either. Dave let him thinking, but he shivered in the chills. John had a right to be angry, enraged, and unforgiving towards him. It wasn’t all rational, but he wasn’t an idiot to the way John touched his cast. He couldn’t tell what was bothering John, but it clearly had something to do with his broken bones. But John’s thoughtfulness seemed almost serene, and he turned back to him with a warm face. 

“Why were you distracted?”

“I don’t know. I’m really—”

“Shooooosh.” John put his finger over Dave’s mouth, moving it around. “Stop apologizing. I’m not mad at you! I’m the opposite of mad. I am unmad that you told me, and I’m really glad you did. It must’ve been really scary if you thought I was going to be really mad at you.”

“You should be,” he said, once the finger was removed. “If I’d told you, if I just fucking warned you about the stairs—”

“Okay, fine, it’s your fault and I forgive you.” John leaned on him, searching for his eyes. “So, distracted, huh?”

“Yeah, I was distracted. Shit, you can’t just forgive me like that. I need to do something.” Dave felt pitiful, though relief was already spreading through his limbs, a tingling sensation that left his muscles relaxed. He still thought it was his fault, but there was something about being forgiven so easily and nonchalantly, with so much eagerness and affection, that made him almost think he could start putting this behind him. 

“Distracted.” John bit down on his lip, struggling not to grin, though Dave couldn’t tell why that was making him so happy. “But okay. I’ll only forgive you on one condition, and that’s if you tell me what’s bothering you. You’ll point out when I have mismatched white socks, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t point out the buttons until that much later.”

“It’s nothing,” Dave said, defensive, but John wasn’t so easily swayed.

“Conditional forgiveness!” John held his finger in the air, and Dave gave in. It felt like a slight collapse in his chest, but not in a sunken way. He felt shy and vulnerable, trying to formulate the right words for it, but feeling somewhat reassured in John’s stretched out grin.

“My turntables aren’t working. I don’t know why. They’re—important.” His words came into life like they were dead, stiff and clipped. He tried his best to say what he meant, to say that gifts like that were a sign of love, that love meant a lot to him. In the short sentences, he wanted to convey all the sense of personal devastation and the numbness that came with poking around the quiet records, the surge of hope every time he tried again and the destruction of his insides when nothing happened. But even though he couldn’t quite pass on the message, John still remained an eager recipient. 

“Of course they’re important,” he said, “You should get a guy to look at them. He’ll fix it, right in a jiffy. You know, there’s a tool store right down the street, we should go and ask if they know any repairman and stuff. He’ll fix it right as rain. They were a present, right?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll fix them.” John patted him on the arm, dragging him down the street. He hadn’t actually known there was a store there, since he hadn’t gotten out in the neighborhood much before John, but he realized that he honestly hadn’t known what to do with himself after the turntables had been discovered broken. He never used them anymore and he might have let them remain in their stilted state. John took care of it with ease, grinning at him, patting his arm, maneuvering him through the store. Arrangements were made. His turntables would be fixed.

It had started raining in the time they had been in the store, and John bought an umbrella for them to share. He stuffed a plastic bag and a coat over John’s cast, taking the umbrella to walk them down the street. The air was no longer as sharp and chilly, blowing dry golden leaves in their faces, but there was the heavier gusts that made John’s scarf flutter in the wind. On their way home, John kept glancing at him with a secret smile, and Dave had to wonder what John knew that he did not.

\--

His turntables were fixed, and he treated them delicately. He touched the corners, then the sides, trying to gauge how much he could touch before a spurious fear overtook him that everything inside must be broken. In thankfulness to John’s adamant control over the situation, he voluntarily invited him out to stargaze when the storm had cleared up. He could feel the seasons changing, and he didn’t think there would be clear enough skies for the next few months to have a better view. 

He was tucking away the blanket into the basket when he heard a clatter from the other room. It wasn’t particularly loud or unusual, and he opened the side door to make sure John hadn’t run into the wall. These things happened to the best and to John. His first survey of the scene told him that a thermos with boiling water had merely fallen to the floor, and his second survey of the scene made him deeply uncomfortable. 

John was leaning against the counter, watching the water spill on the floor, but something vicious had overtaken his expression. He seemed angry, angrier than he’d ever seen him, broken in ways Dave couldn’t discern. His brow was knit and his knuckles pale from where they gripped his cast, and he gritted all his teeth together and clenched his fist tight. 

“Fuck,” John said, though he didn’t really say it. He seemed to scream it, quietly, snarl it, bite it off. He slammed his fist against the counter, and he was on the boiling point. Everything seemed to be converging on that part of the room, all the comforts of the room evaporating under the heat of his anger. Dave had never seen John this angry. He’d seen him peeved and miffed, but a crueler anger now reared its head, and John swore again, nearly spitting. 

“Fuck! I’m so fucking—sick—I can’t do fucking anything, it’s—” John slammed his fist on the counter again, and Dave swallowed. 

“Maybe I should go,” he said, low.

He watched as John’s features trembled on the verge of a complete breakdown, and he could see the anger being quashed into a small cube, put away somewhere inside him. He could see John breathe deeper breathes, watch him compose his face together to a more cheerful smile, the veins disappearing and replaced with an almost meek expression, a shamed one for letting out the anger. 

He’d said the wrong thing. 

“No,” John said, hurriedly, “I was just all banged up frustrated. I’m sorry, jeez. I’ll clean it up, don’t worry. Are you almost finished with the packing?”

“Yeah, it’s… packed.” Dave couldn’t tell what he’d done wrong. In fact, it would almost seem nothing had gone wrong. John smiled and the room had settled down around him. He thought he’d been respectful, but something sharper inside him, the intuitive sense that lead him to be good at the stock market game, said he’d made the wrong move. 

He shook off the uncomfortable feeling, returning to his apartment to grab his things. No traces remained of any ill will on John’s part. In fact, he seemed overeager to make amends for his small outburst, helping him stuff the basket into the trunk of the car and opening the front door for him. The night skies were remarkably clear, the stars twinkling faintly above them, half hidden under the glow of the city lights. 

“So,” John said, sitting in the car, “What do you think about—dating and things?”

“I don’t date things.” His mind was still on the incident in the apartment, but he forcibly paid more attention towards him. “Why are you asking?”

“I haven’t really seen you date anyone. Since I moved in.”

“Too busy taking care of your sorry ass. Doesn’t mean I’m not on the market.” Dave turned the car into the lot, letting the car purr before he pulled out his keys. 

“Do you look for anything in the people you date?”

“Being alive is a plus. Breathing, possibly. Millionaire, necessity.” Dave climbed out of the car, popping open the trunk to retrieve the basket. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

“No reason.” John was quick to follow, trailing him up the small hill. In the relatively clearer area of the city, the stars seemed to emerge from the sky, bright and winking down at him. He spread the blanket over the grass and helped John down, keeping his cast steady. 

They laid there in silence for a while, and even Dave found the stars bright enough to ward away his usual stream of thought of composing rap. The world seemed to open up entirely, the dark sky expansive and the litter of stars hanging in the sky. They seemed small, which made him feel even smaller. In the peace on the hill, he could only hear the occasional rustle of the wind and John’s steady breathing beside him. When the chill reached an alarming coldness, he tugged the extra blanket over their laps, reclining back and trying to absorb the sights. 

It was serenity. That was all he could think about, the serenity of the scene. It was peace and it was good, and he found himself surprisingly thankful that John was there to enjoy the scene with him. Even without his usual stream of scientific chatterbox, John was warm and radiated gladness about seeing the sights. Everything seemed so dark in the sky except for the smattering of dusty stars, radiating bright glows even though Dave refused to take off his shades. 

“That’s the constellation of a butt,” John said, helpfully pointing it out. He raised his hand to trace it, and Dave chuckled, a sound coming from deep within his chest.

“They have a fancy name for that constellation?”

“I dunno. Nates.” 

“Poor Nate.”

“Poor Nate got a flat butt.” John propped himself up on his elbow, and he pushed his hair back behind his ear. He had stopped looking at the stars, but he was looking at Dave entirely, watchful over his face. 

“Sup.”

“I just really wanted to say thanks. For everything you’ve done for me. I don’t… You’re just a really great friend. You’ve been a better friend than I deserve, or something like that. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Dave said honestly. “You’re a good guy, dude. A good friend.”

“You’re a great buddy.” John smiled, nervous, and he leaned forward. “I feel really great when I’m around you. Like I can do anything. Everything. I laugh a lot more and I’m just really grateful that you’ve been around. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t want any other neighbor in the whole world. Bill Cosby or no Bill Cosby.”

“You’re never going to live next to Bill Cosby.”

“Shut up, loser.”

“Nerdus.”

John wrinkled his nose, amused, but there was something quite clear in his eyes. He leaned forward, and Dave knew what he wanted to do with startling clarity. John’s gloved hand held his face still, cool against Dave’s warming skin, and he understood. Everything seemed to be happening, the stars shone above, John pressed against him, the blades of grass that rose from below and formed tenuous clumps underneath the blanket. The wind seemed fresh and twisting his hair, but the wintry cold couldn’t chill him. John was there, right there, hand trembling quietly. With great delicacy, John leaned forward to kiss him, shifting towards him, and Dave flinched. 

He’d flinched before he realized it, and everything seemed fall out of order. Even in the darkness, he could see John’s eyes widen in almost fear, rebuked, and he hastily let go of his hand and leaned back. It took Dave a moment to recognize the loss of warmth, and even longer to realize he had flinched. It had been a subtle movement, a twitch of his head, but it had been unmistakably firm. 

“I’m sorry—” he started, hoarse and pleading. 

“No, jeez. Sorry. I’m sorry. Jesus Christ.” John sat up, wrenching a hand over his face. “I’m really sorry, Dave, I just—I got confused, and it’s my fault, and it’s out of line, and I’m sorry.”

“No, I…” It wasn’t that John was cutting him off, but Dave couldn’t put it into words. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t tell why he flinched, he couldn’t even say how he felt about almost kissing him. The previously pleasant sight of the open stars now sent him reeling, and he sat close to John, close enough to see the red burn the tip of his ears, but it was still too far. 

“Sorry. Don’t let me… Don’t let me ruin the night. It’s a good night, and there’s stars. Stars! Stars are great. I love stars.” John miserably glanced up at the sky, fingers ringing around his cast. “It’s really great.”

Dave didn’t want to drop the subject, but he couldn’t find the words. Even after some deep breaths, he couldn’t recover the right way of saying anything, or even understand his own thoughts. John seemed to take his silence as acceptance of his proposal, continuing to talk in a higher pitch about the stars. He traced out the constellations with his fingers, looking everywhere but him. 

In the car, John turned on the radio until it overpowered both of them. Dave occasionally glanced at him, trying to find something to say, but John always had been turned away, staring out the window, the darkness hiding his expression. When they had reached the top floor, Dave was determined to try and say something.

“I’m sorry,” John said, before Dave could even begin. Some expression played over his face, leaving his face red and ashamed. 

“No,” Dave said, and fell silent, lost. 

“I’m really sorry,” John blurted out, and he slipped into his apartment. He closed the door behind him, not an angry slam, but swift in his movements. Dave finally opened the door to his own apartment, where everything seemed dark and cold. He hadn’t stared out to his furniture, the walls, the emptiness of everything he owned, and he could hardly recognize his own apartment. Everything was a stranger to him, and nothing seemed right. When he finally sat down on his bed, he thought it strange that he’d never previously recognized how hollow the sound rang.


	4. Speaking of balls

“Rose, hey. It’s your least favorite brother. Just calling to check in. That’s a goddamn lie, I don’t really care, listen to me. Got some important shit to lay on you. I’m flipping off the walls here, doing acrobatic pirouettes like some stealth ninja. The world’s my trampoline. Look, Rose, I know you’re busy with the wedding—you’re busy with the wedding planning. Right. Yeah. No, never mind, I’ll—text you. Just erase this message. And just because I’m only leaving you one voicemail message doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong, capice. Shit, forget I said capice. Forget this message. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I just fucked up. A little bit. A teaspoon of fuck up makes the world go round. Shit. Rose, just—never mind. Sorry. I just fucked up.” 

\--

John knocked on the front door. 

Dave opened it, still in his pajamas and robe. He’d never willed so hard for the knocking to be some magazine salesman or some out-of-breath scouts selling cookies. Instead, John held out a round cake. He looked simultaneously cowed and sheepish, remarkable acts that even Farmer Brown couldn’t top. 

“There’s a side door,” Dave murmured, shrugging a shoulder to the side door.

“Oh. Yeah. I just—I figured an apology cake is best presented as all official business. None of those shenanigans that plague our modern society, just business cake.”

“Sure. Do you want to—come in?”

If John detected the slight hitch of Dave’s breath, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded. Dave stepped aside, letting John come into the apartment with stilted movements. Dave hadn’t forgotten about the near kiss incident. If anything, the problem multiplied in his head. Shenanigans couldn’t possibly plague modern society more than the near kiss could plague his head. He had a reprieve from immediately facing John, given John’s absence for the surgery on his hand. The cast had finally come off and John returned from another stay from his sister’s house. The confrontation had come, and it had come in the form of a cake. 

Dave wrapped the robe tighter around his hips, sitting down at the table. John brooded over the cake, face twitching from a thin smile to a more honest crease of his brow. They seemed doomed to sit in silence forever. The Strider side of the Strider-Lalondes never did speeches, and Dave most certainly always ran, if possible, from any obstacle. If he ever came between a rock and a hard place, he’d likely run away. Fortunately, the Egberts appeared to take more initiative. 

“I want to be buddies with you, Dave.” John flexed his wrist. “In all honesty, you’re a really cool guy. I like ribbing you that you’re all stupid, but you’re all cool.”

“We can still be friends,” he said, hasty. “A kiss doesn’t make us less friends. Shit, _Friends_ wouldn’t even have been on the air if that was true.”

“But I don’t want things to be awkward between us! Dave, I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you, that was stupid. Entirely stupid. Super stupid. Stupid stupid. Jade always says, ‘John, blah blah blah, boundary lines, blah blah blah.’ I should have listened.”

“Worst Jade impression.” Dave picked at the frayed end of his robe. “The kiss wasn’t—I don’t mind. It’s okay, shit’s cool.”

“I’m still really sorry. I just got mixed up, and it was really stupid.” John leaned against his hand. “I thought—shit. I thought stuff, wrong stuff, and it was really stupid, I’m not that smart.”

“You’re plenty smart,” Dave said, urgent. He wondered if he had talked to people more, then he would know the magic words to say to make everything all better. The colors of his kitchen came on too strong, the wintry clouds casting a subdued shade in his room. He noticed John’s hand, the one that’d carried the broken bones, was now lying limp on the table. It didn’t move, though John moved the other one adamantly. This felt important in words he couldn’t say. 

“Can you forgive me? I promise I won’t try that again. Or any of those shenanigans. If I make you feel bad, in any way, I want you to tell me!” 

“It’s okay, dude. Really.” Dave wrested with his hands. “Do you—like me?”

“Yeah.” John rubbed his face frantically, disrupting his hair. “I’m sorry, Dave.”

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know what he was saying. Something had brought him here, sitting in front of a cake, watching his neighbor squirm guilty in front of him without any words to reprieve him. It felt like he was watching the incident from binoculars, distant and removed. Even from his hovering perch, he winced at the interrogation. But he winced more at the fact that he wasn’t surprised. Somewhere inside him, he already seemed to have adjusted to the fact that John liked him. He didn’t know why, but the wound was too fresh to poke through. He went for a different tactic. 

“Can I ask how long?” 

“That I liked you? Um… I dunno if I really want to say, but I guess for a while. I just didn’t think I had a chance until recently?”

“What changed?” Dave tried to still himself from the pained looks from John. He didn’t know if his questions were making John relive painful memories, or if John thought his answers would make Dave uncomfortable. John swallowed, and looked away.

“When you said you were distracted, because I slept with that guy, I thought you were jealous. Of me. But you were probably just annoyed by the noise, or that I brought a guy over without telling you, or a thousand other things, and I don’t know why I thought that.” John dragged his good hand over his face, reconstructing some semblance of composure. 

Dave had already been quiet, but he fell into a more contemplative silence. He hadn’t thought John noticed that, particularly, and he hadn’t considered it. His own mind switched blame for the distractions every time he considered it, floating between worry over the loss of his homemade breakfasts to simply that he hadn’t brought over someone for himself. But even in the chaos and confusion of his mind, he could tell John accepted the silence as agreement, and continued on.

“It was stupid,” John said, “When we were folding laundry and you said that I was nice, that really meant a lot to me. Like I had a chance with you? But it was stupid. You were saying that because it was hypothetical. It was theoretical. It was imaginarical.”

“You’re a good guy, dude. I’d be… Anybody would be lucky for a chance with you.” Dave flushed, but John scoffed. 

“I remember what you said. A long time ago. I wasn’t even thinking and being a jerk to you and you said, you said that it was torture to hang out with me, and I was a big ol’ nerd, and you never wanted me here, and you couldn’t believe I had any friends, and you’re right. I know you were mad, but I should’ve remembered and not tried to be all up on your lips.” 

Dave faintly could recall the incident. The more John spoke, the more his own words slapped back in his face, in the time when he was angry and bitter over unknown sensations. Even then, he hadn’t meant it, not in the way he’d thought. He could almost recall all his belief that he’d been truthful, but the passing months had sharpened the incident into startling clarity. He had enjoyed John’s company, but he hadn’t wanted to admit this to himself. But he was drawn out of his reverie by an even sicker feeling, deep inside his stomach.

“You remember all that?” he asked.

“I mean, you made it pretty clear.” John gave a sheepish grin. Dave had to turn away for a moment, massaging his forehead. He hadn’t realized that John had been listening to him. He hadn’t recognized that anybody ever listened to him in his long rambles. The words hadn’t washed away, but they’d turned brittle with age and returned to sit in front of him, looming and knowing. 

“But you remember the good things I said about you, too, right?” He must have sounded more insistent than he realized, because John’s eyes widened an increment. 

“Um. Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Dave dropped his hands down to his knees, rubbing over the terrycloth. “The bad shit I said, it wasn’t any of that. That made me not want to… It wasn’t that. Don’t think about that stuff, that’s crap. My crap, not your crap.”

“I don’t need to know nothin’ except that you don’t want to kiss and stuff. And I respect that. Honest.” 

Dave wished he could tell why he pulled back. Everything had happened so fast, and so slow, like time had turned into runny liquid between his fingers. He hadn’t even realized that John had liked him so much, and he didn’t even know if he liked John in that way. But he had done a lot more with people for a lot less, and he was confused, now, why he couldn’t kiss him. He regretted it. 

“Are we still friends?” John asked, gentle. He lowered his eyes, wrapping his fingers instinctively over the wrist of his once injured hand. 

“Yeah. We’re friends. Great friends. Shit, I mean, I broke your hand and you said we’re all good.” 

John laughed, face breaking into a small grin. It was heartening enough for Dave.

“Nah. You might think it’s all your fault, but I wasn’t a big fan of taking the elevators, anyway. They got all those mirrors, it’s like a funhouse in there. And I don’t like mirrors.” John contemplated thoughtfully. “I guess I don’t really like what I see.”

“You’re a good guy, dude.” Dave wrenched his hands together. “You’re a great guy. I don’t see what you can see in me. Other than the great hair.”

“You do got great hair. But it’s more than that! Way more than that.” John rubbed his face with his good hand. “Still, it means a lot to me that we can still be buddies.”

“Same.” Dave, finding himself too still at the table, busied himself at the cabinets for silverware and plates. 

“If you’re gonna cut the cake, wink, then you should know this isn’t just any cake. This is a fun cake. A fun business cake. Some of the slices have the most disgusting things ever, and some of the slices are just cake.” John leaned on his elbows, grinning. 

John didn’t seem quite easy around him, but after Dave had spit the cake out in his face, things seemed to settle back comfortably. A nervous hesitance betrayed him occasionally, awkwardness in his motions, when he would pat Dave on the arm or suggest he take care of cleaning up, but it was nothing that time wouldn’t smooth away. Dave, however, though it would take longer than that to figure out what he wanted from John. 

At least John left in greater spirits. When he left for his own apartment, he held out his hand for a handshake, switched to trying to hug, then switched back to the handshake, face burning. Dave chuckled and drew him in for a hug. In the Huglympics, John was simply the best there was. He had a big warm hug that folded people right into his chest. Dave’s were bony and elbows flying everywhere, but for all his awkwardness, John left seeming more pleased than he arrived and more at peace than Dave could feel.

\--

Dave dated the same way he did the dishes: badly. He’d navigated through dates with all the elegance of a hippo at a concert, squatting in the front row. He made all the classic mistakes in the book, and even invented some. Some Dave Strider’s General Date Rules: don’t spend the entire date muttering to yourself, don’t start scribbling your newest rap on the napkin, not all that glitters is gold, and not all that is gold can inspire patience in trying to fish out their gold earring slipped between the headboard and wall that had landed there from a dramatic Star Wars reenactment gone either terribly wrong or fabulously right. He was unfazed if dates went badly, since he considered himself a take it or leave it deal. Surprisingly, the world was ready for Dave Strider, and his undeterred acceptance of his own quirks inspired others to admire him and want to touch his biceps. This was acceptable.

But he had dated people who were less everything than John. He dated people whose eyes would glaze every time he opened his mouth, people who put him on a pedestal and became disheartened when they saw him sitting on the couch and eating pizza from a box on his chest, and people who embodied terrible reality TV. It still confused him, then, why he didn’t want to kiss John. In fact, John seemed keen to admire him, petted his ego, and was a better guy than Dave could be in all eight of his other lives. John honestly cared in all the schmoopy ways that Dave never did.

If it was attraction, that was there enough. Even upon deeper reflection, staring up at his ceiling at nights, he knew he did enjoy John’s company. The highest points of his day were with John, and he couldn’t remember laughing so hard than when John squirted milk out of his nose. And, he had to admit, John was handsome. Not better than himself, of course, but ample to be equal. John consistently stood out as the most handsome in a crowd, and he carried an air of youthful happiness, always grinning and darting his eyes and laughing through his nose, very boy next door meet bodybuilder granted from greater spirits. Dave was also not insensible to the broadness of his shoulders and the fact that he could punch John’s abs and possibly end up with a broken fist. 

Altogether, then, it was confusing and he didn’t understand it. His Google searches lead him to a few hours of taking online quizzes about his love life. Sagittarius, apparently, was extremely positive and jovial. He would keep this in mind. 

But there was never a problem in the world from whence Dave Strider could not run, and he skittered off to Jade’s office. She had called and insisted for him to visit and look at the pictures she’d put up in her office. John would join them later for lunch, but in the safety of Jade’s presence, Dave didn’t feel the awkwardness would really inflict them. He always had his handy excuse to slip away to his own work, having landed the whale of the Dendrick account. John seemed too well-meaning to ever use his work as an excuse, but something had been keeping him at the office longer than usual.

“Dave!” Jade bustled outside, shifting weight from foot to foot in the cold. The dark clouds threatened above them, and Dave rubbed his hands together for warmth. It seemed like John hadn’t told her anything, because she wrapped him in a tight hug and blew hot air over his ears. She ushered him up to her office, chattering all the way about how the cafeteria was going to serve pudding, and she did so love pudding.

“I’ll have to treat John to some pudding,” she was saying, unlocking the door. “John loves pudding! Doesn’t everyone love pudding?”

“I hate pudding.”

“You are a mister cheerfulpants today.”

“I’m a Sagittarius.”

Jade gave him a quizzical look, throwing open the door and flicking on the light switch. The fluorescent lights stuttered, and then warmly bathed the room in a comforting glow. Potted plants framed the room, but the photographs on the walls attracted his eyes. He’d been taking pictures as a hobby for years, but he’d never seen his works featured on the wall, underneath the shiny glow of the glass. 

“Your pictures are great,” she said, “I really like looking at them! Can you guess which one is my favorite?” 

“They’re all your favorites?”

“No, dumbass.” She nudged him with a grin. “I mean, yes, but there is one. Go on, guess.”

He took his time in admiring the size of his works, more expansive than his computer screen, appearing deceptively elegant within the golden frames and thin strings that held the pictures up. Her favorites weren’t his favorites, since she leaned towards the more cheerful nature sights. Her choice of photographs was telling, from shots of dew on leaves and the foliage in the morning light of the park. She’d even chosen an aquarium picture, a particularly bright fish swimming into the frame. There was one, though, that stood out amongst the nature shots, framed high above her desk. The picture drew attention, more carefully placed, a shot he could hardly remember taking, where she and John sat on the marble steps. Jade’s face was half hidden in her hair, drooping over her face, but John was telling her a story with his hands. She leaned forward and John leaned closer, siblings with a secret.

“That one, right?” Dave slipped behind her desk, examining the picture closer. Jade joined him, watering can in hand.

“Yay, good job! How did you guess?”

“Completely missed the fact it was hanging smack dab in the middle of your office. You just like looking at yourself. You spend hours in front of a mirror, making out with your mirror self.” 

“Dumbass.” Jade grinned fondly, rings clanking against the can when she moved away to water her potted plants. “It’s my favorite because it’s the best picture of me and John that I’ve ever, ever, ever seen. You’re really good at taking pictures of people. Which was kinda surprising, because you don’t take a lot of those!” 

He supposed he didn’t. He never had a model before. But with the pictures thrown into his face, brimming bright in the room, he thought he could see something in himself. His pictures leaned towards sharp contrast, solitary lines, and a raw intuition of humans. Jade must have exaggerated, but even reluctantly putting aside his conceit, he could see he’d done well. Scanning over the contours, he thought he could almost see the liveliness between them, and the openness shared with frankness. The photographer, closed behind the lens. He touched the picture. 

“John’s been taking good care of the plants,” Jade was saying, pushing aside a curtain. “And plants can need lots of care. Some plants need to be watered a whole lot, and some plants only need to be watered a little. It’s really important that you water them the right amount, even if it’s just a little bit! Then their flowers might bloom. It just takes time. Time and care.”

She continued to water the plants until he murmured a quick escape to wait for John outside, planning on rejoining her for pudding at the cafeteria. He stepped to the opening to see John already on the steps, though his gaze was directed upwards at the clouds. Shoving his hands underneath his armpits, he stumbled closer to him until their shoulders were almost touching. 

“Sup,” Dave murmured, trying not to disturb him. But John already know he was there, even with his eyes intent on the clouds.

“It’s gonna snow,” John breathed, a heavy puff rising from his mouth and lingering in the air. His cheeks reddened from the cold, even under his wool scarf. Dave felt like winter was the hellbeast of hellacold, skin prickling even underneath his layers. But John seemed unfazed by the turn of the season. 

A soft flutter of snowflakes began to fall, sparse and thin. Dave stretched out his hands, catching a snowflake on his finger. It melted, cold, over the ridges of his forefinger. He turned to John to say something, but John was already grinning at the sky. Snowflakes fluttered to the tip of his nose that’d been burning a dull red. 

“We should talk sometime,” Dave said.

“Talk about what?” 

Dave shrugged. Even though the snow would get into his eyes, he propped up his shades to his forehead to see him better. A light dusting of snow already lingered down the tips of John’s dark hair, some caught in his eyelashes between his frames and face. 

\--

On an early Saturday evening, Dave was going through John’s refrigerator for some food. Any food would be acceptable, but he found the leftover lasagna particularly acceptable. He had big plans for the night, which included the handsome party of himself, his blanket, and a healthy Netflix queue that only begged to be watched more. He would not promise to watch The Fast and the Furious, but he would not not promise to watch The Fast and the Furious. 

“Hi, Dave,” John said, emerging from the bedroom. He was dressed to go out in the weather, already reaching for his scruffy jacket. His hair, both fashion statement and fashion disaster, stood up in its usual disarray. Teeth clamped around his fork, Dave tried his best to part it respectably.

“You going somewhere?” he finally asked, given up on the forestry of John’s hair. 

“Some guys and me are going down to the bar. Just kicking back, chillaxing.”

“The last time I heard someone use ‘chillaxing,’ bowl cuts were still a thing.” 

“Shut up, dude. You living it up tonight?” John eyed the plate of lasagna, grabbing the fork to sneak a bite. Dave smacked his hand away, curling around his food. 

“Yeah. Probably watch some documentaries about fish.”

“So basically just The Fast and the Furious.” John viciously stole some lasagna in a sneak attack, chewing victorious. “You should really watch fish documentaries sometime, though. Oceans, dude. Oceans.”

“Who’s coming to your shindig?” Dave bit down on his fork thoughtfully. “Never mind. Only dweebs use ‘shindig.’ Who’s going to your off the hook official gathering of dweebs?”

“Just some dudes. Some from my work, some from my D&D group. Mostly from both. We got this big research opportunity at my workplace, going up north and working and stuff, but I dunno if I’ll take it. But anyway, we are celebrating! And I’ll be back in a jiffy, but don’t wait up for me. Mwah, mwah.” John pursed his lips, obviously amused by his own kissing joke. But Dave had no time for fake kissing shenanigans, and he rested his elbows deliberately on the counter. He could spend the night comfortably resting inside his house, maybe even catching up on his classy shows like Extreme Couponing. But something compelled him to drape his fingers over the counter, placing the lasagna on the firm surface. Staying home was tempting and good, but he wanted something more. He wanted to push himself, and he wanted to show himself he could change.

“You think there’s room for one more?”

“Um, I wouldn’t know! Duh,” John said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know the room capacity! There’s probably room for like… thirty more, I dunno. Depending on how many are there that night!”

“No, dingus, I’m asking if I can be your plus one.” 

“You really want to come?” John grinned, toothy and wide. “Yeah! You should come, definitely. There’s always room for you, dude. I’m leaving in like ten minutes, you think you’ll be ready by then?”

“Only ten?” Dave scoffed. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

Twenty minutes later, Dave walked John like a gentleman to the bar. The snow continued to fall, hidden in the dark night but fluttering into sight under the streetlights. He crunched through the snowdrifts, keeping his face down to peer for any icy spots on the sidewalk. He could feel John pressed against him, huddling for warmth, and even out of the corner of his eyes, he knew John was grinning at him. 

“Stop being all smarmy,” he mumbled, rubbing his mittens together. 

“You stop being all smarmy, smarmaster. What’s with you coming out with me tonight?” 

“Maybe I just want a drink.” 

“Get off your high rocking horse, dude. You could have just gotten slammed up in your own room. What’s so special about a stinky bar?” 

“Maybe I just wanted to prove something to myself. Can’t a dude freeze his balls off in peace.” He puffed into his mittens, eying John’s bare hand. They passed by the poor light streaming from the store windows, and he could see John was only using his good hand to button and unbutton the top of his coat. His other hand swung limp by his side. 

“My balls are pretty cold,” John murmured in deep thought. 

“Speaking of balls, there’s this big gala happening. A couple miles out of town, you know. My sister’s wedding. I can bring a plus one.” Dave shrugged. “I guess I’ll bring you or some shit. Do you have plans? Cancel them.”

“I already got invited, dumbass, and I was going to bring Jade as my plus one. But you should bring me as your plus one. I like being your plus one.”

“You’re my minus one.” But Dave felt pleased, nevertheless, strong warmth emanating from his chest. 

“I’m surprised that you’re taking it this cool! Your sister’s getting married. In the world of big deals, it is the biggest of deals.”

“I’m a stock broker, asshole, I’ve made bigger deals than my sister getting hitched. Besides, change happens. You either roll with it or not.” Dave peeked at John’s face. They were approaching the bar, the parking lot slick under the neon lights. The sigh above flickered in orange, the hustle of the sounds muffled through the thick glass, though Dave could see inside to the crowds jostling each other and laughing. The strange silence outside cottoned around his ears. 

“I guess some things change,” John said fondly, holding open the door for him.

The heat swamping the bar demanded Dave to take off his coat and mittens, stuffing them in his pockets and letting his clammy hands do the usual shaking. Though never particularly comfortable in crowds, he considered himself adroit at social gatherings and waxed off his charms more than usual that night. He was keen to have John’s friends like him, and found them to be nice people who were equally keen on making him feel welcome. He flicked peanuts at John’s hair to their approval, and choked down a few more beers than his usual itinerary would have considered. When he said he preferred wine, he was pleasantly surprised at their good-hearted jeers, inspiring a hearty discussion between them about wine and beer, and they all looked to Dave for his superior advice. 

He was surprised at how well he eased into their conversations, welcome at every table and John stopping by to squeeze beside him on occasion. He couldn’t pretend to be unaware at the ginger treatment, where John never stayed for too long. John seemed sensitive to the knowledge of the almost kiss, and his looks towards him when he thought Dave wasn’t looking were affectionate gazes mixed with pain. John hesitated before grabbing his shoulder, looked bashfully awkward when Dave pulled close to whisper in his ear, and smiled cautiously around him. But John didn’t have the temperament to stay cautious for long, and Dave was grateful that John treated him with the same warmth of a friend.

And John chose his friends with an adept hand. Though not every person was as outgoing as John, he couldn’t find any that were particularly cruel. They were intelligent without the bloodthirstiness that came from the people at his office, and he enjoyed his time there. He even chimed in on a hearty discussion about the hockey game that played on the television above the bar, and John laughed the hardest at his claims that they’d bring out the Zamboni soon.

The party split up casually, and he found himself ushered into the backseat of a car to be driven home. 

“I’m gonna feel this in the morning,” John said, dropping his coat onto the floor and then flopping on the coat. Finding the couch far away, Dave decided to follow likewise and sat down, leaning against the wall. 

“Your fault for going so late past your beddy bye time.”

“Bluh.” John shook his head slowly. “You wanna come to a Dungeons and Dragons thing we’re having later this week?”

“Probably not my scene, dude. I won’t even be there in spirit.”

“Fair enough.” John chuckled, head drooping. Dave scooted against the wall until he was close enough to touch John’s head, and he did. He was a welcome heat pack against the chill of the room. In the dark, he couldn’t discern if this was his apartment or John’s apartment, though he supposed it didn’t matter. 

“Hey,” he said softly, “You like me?”

“’course I do, Dave. I like you a lot.”

“I mean, more than a friend. Like like. Triple like. Like times infinity, that sort of like. Write my last name with your first and circle them with hearts, pin my picture up on the locker with markers sort of thing.”

“’course I do, Dave.” John blinked sleepily up at him. “But I know you don’t wanna kiss me, and that’s all I need to know.”

“You need to know more than that.” Dave brushed aside a strand of John’s hair, skimming his finger over the dark frame. “I wish I had the damn words to tell you.”

“’sokay. You’re a good friend, Dave.” 

“I’m not.” Dave stroked through his hair, rooting him to reality. “I don’t fucking see why you have to go and like—me.” The acidity of his own voice surprised him. He hadn’t realized he had found the idea of someone liking him so reprehensible. Then again, he supposed he never spoke much of anything significant at all. It felt like something turning in his chest, things spilling out, messy and unknown that had once been inside him.

“But you’re a great guy. Everybody liked you at the bar, and you’re great. Super great. You’re cool and you got the dweebiest smile and you make me feel good.” John blinked at him, slow and hesitant. “You’re my best friend.”

Dave turned away, bashful, and dropping his hand to John’s back. He could have almost forgotten the strange situation between them, but in his sleepy stupor, John wilted away on the floor. His head drooped, curled on his scruffy coat, and he breathed like every breath was his last. He looked sad, and Dave sat in silence in the room. When the night turned into a chill, he finally stretched out his arms and felt a reassuring burn in his muscles. John was already partway to dreamland when Dave helped him up, easing him to the bedroom. Given he didn’t stumble over a pile of books on his way there, he correctly guessed that it was his apartment. He didn’t bother turning on the lights when he rolled John onto the bed, tugging off his socks and poking at his toes idly for a while. After setting his alarm for John’s work, he crawled into the bed beside him and pulled the covers over them. 

“Thanks,” he finally mumbled, when he felt assured enough that John was sound asleep. He felt ridiculously pleased when John only snored back, tucking himself off to the other side of the bed with his face burning. 

\--

Dave was returning from work, tossing his briefcase onto the couch. John didn’t seem to be home yet, his apartment still dark, so Dave took a welcome walk to John’s refrigerator to find some food for him to dig through. That was his first mistake, evident by the balloon animals spilling down his feet. He barely had time to register every balloon animal had a small pair of aviator shades drawn onto its face when the light flicked on.

“Surprise!” John, wearing the stupidest birthday hat in the world, blew on the stupidest party tweeter, paper unfurling into the seven winds. 

“It’s not my birthday.”

“It is so your birthday! Your online profile says it’s your birthday, and also your sister sent you that big package, and it’s your birthday. I got you a gift.”

“Is this the gift.” Dave waded through the balloon animals, glancing down skeptically. “And how the hell did you know I was going for your fridge?”

“When do you not eat out of my refrigerator, Dave Strider. Did you know that every time I make you a meal, you eat half the stuff off my plate? That makes no sense.” John shook his head sadly, stuffing the brown package at Dave’s face. As expected, the little tag said it was from Rose. Dave finally got around to cutting through the tape, opening it up.

“I got something to tell you,” John said, hesitantly. “But maybe not on your birthday?”

“Why not? Something bad?”

“No, it’s just… it’s big, and gotta do with my job, and you know what, it is your birthday and it can wait. What’d Rose get you?”

“Rose got me an ugly Christmas sweater.” Dave held it up to his frame, admiring the handiwork. “She’s getting better, sweet.” 

It was a birthday tradition. Rose pretended to give him a mixed Christmas and birthday gift, and Dave did the same. Rose always sent terrible sweaters that truly must have anguished her passive aggressive soul, deliberately leaving frayed ends and odd spots with terrible colors threading throughout the sweater. This year she had truly outdone herself in terribleness, what he could only perceive as a jolly pixilated Santa on a Harley, the road strip outlined in glitter and tiny electronic lights for his motorcycle. On the back: ROAD HOG in comic sans. 

“Fucking glorious,” he mumbled, quick to slide it on. He was even more pleased to find the sweater was far too big for him, and he admired himself in his own toaster that had never moved back from John’s apartment. He did so until he caught sight of John’s skeptical look in the toaster reflection, and then he continued for a while longer.

“It’s Rose’s birthday tomorrow. I already sent her my present,” Dave said, rolling up the sleeves. His present, as always, could not be better. A wizarding outfit for her cat. It would drive her absolutely up the wall.

“I did too! I got her some old timey books. Super old, I sneezed like ten times picking them up. And I had to get Jade something, too, your birthdays are way too close together. Buuuut, I still got you something.”

“It’s not my birthday.” Dave grabbed a chips bag from the cabinets, popping it open and shaking his head. John and his rascally prankster’s gambit always seemed to champion over him for the biggest occasions. Halloween had been the worst. He’d rather never speak about it again. As it was, when he popped a chip into his mouth, he bit down to the dry taste of radish. 

John snorted into his hand, retreating to his bedroom. While Dave stared down dismally at the hard work put into resealing the bag with radish chips disgusted as potato chips, John came out to present him with a box covered with blue wrapping paper. 

“Is that filled with paper snakes.”

“Yes, Dave, it is. But I know you love presents and you can’t refuse super great presents and you will totally open it anyway.”

“You bastard.” But Dave did love presents, and he winced when he finally pulled open the box. To his surprise, no snakes flew out to attack his face, and he caught sight of the very smug smirk on John’s face. 

“It’s your birthday, doofus. I ain’t that mean. Two pranks is enough!”

“You do know that by saying you did something and not doing it, that’s still a prank.”

“Just look at your present, jackass.”

He pulled out a cheesy birthday gift card, a pun on fowls, and he dug in deep to pull out the gift. He was pleasantly surprised to see a bird feather framed beneath glass. He couldn’t tell if it was painted or not, and he was busy examining it on all sides, running his hand over the glass, when he noticed with a start that John had been watching him all the while. 

“It’s not that nice a gift,” he mumbled, clutching it to his chest. 

“Yeah, pretty crappy. I shoulda thought of something better, but then there was Rose and Jade and—”

“Shut up, asshole, it’s perfect.” He stepped back to his apartment, ignoring John, and pushed aside another painting on his wall, something he’d bought because it was commercialized and mass produced and everything he didn’t care about. When he hung it up, it felt right. It was gorgeous, and he sat down on the couch to admire it and its placement, the way suddenly his apartment seemed generously kinder towards him. Like a real home, not ripped from a magazine.

“If you’re done preening, get it, got it, good, then I made reservations for dinner. Going out to eat somewhere fancy where you can show off your suit.” John grinned, papping his face kindly. “Up and at ‘em.”

“Shit, dude.” Dave couldn’t control the grin over his face, reluctantly separating from his prized new possession hanging from the wall. “You know what I like.”

“I was gonna get you a tie with birds on it, but I figured this was better.”

“Hell yeah. And don’t think,” Dave said, throwing off his jacket and picking through his other suits, “I forgot about taking you out to buy a good suit. Especially now with Rose’s wedding, you gotta wear something not crappy.”

“I always wear something not crappy!” 

“No.”

After changing for the third time, Dave settled for a black suit with a champagne red tie. He knew he looked spectacular in the restaurant, a classy place with oak walls and real candles, not simply the electronic ones, and with enough free bread to feed him for weeks. But even when they were seated and drew the glances of a few around them, Dave wasn’t insensible to how well John looked. Even with a scruffy suit with his tie sloppy, John radiated a good hearted charm. His sturdy body with the handsomeness of his face mingled together to draw Dave’s eyes over the menu, even as John tried to stuff three breadsticks into his face.

He would have thought his drunken interrogation of John liking him would make things worse, but their relationship was getting along steadily from that incident. It would have been too much to wish for a complete return to their previous status, and not even something Dave would have wanted. But the pained looks faded into something more affectionate, and John grew in confidence in nudging him and bumping him, laughing in his face. If anything, the renewal of their relationship had made John even more grateful for their friendship, and his actions always possessed a platonic tenderness. 

Dave, though, wasn’t so easy. He wondered if John still liked him, the deterioration of feelings over time. Dave never had actually said anything about liking him or not liking him back, and it felt almost childish, that so much depended on him figuring this out. But he felt he was on unsteady ground, and he couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t want to kiss John. 

It would have been enough if he didn’t like him romantically, but every time he verged on that thought, something inside him rebuked.

When the restaurant mostly cleared out, save a few lingerers, Dave was already preparing himself to the glorious sight of a tin foil swan. He noted, however, John’s eyes drawn to the piano on the stage, grand and occupying a significant portion.

“They let anyone play,” John said. 

“Then you should play.”

“What? No. What!”

“It’s not like there’s tons of people here.” Dave tucked the swan underneath his arm, hoisting himself up from the chair and approaching the stage. “Come on, it’s my birthday. Least you could do is play me that tune. Or if that’s copyrighted, then hoppy borthday.”

“I haven’t played since…” John hesitated, hand clenching around his wrist. 

“If you don’t want to do it, then it’s cool, dude. I hate piano, anyway. All that music biz, none of my biz.” Dave was surprised that he no longer felt that residual guilt in his heart. But it had been replaced with care, and conscious that he might have crossed a line, he put his hand to the small of John’s back, anxious to coax him to wherever felt more comfortable. John had already set his shoulders, breathing shallowly with his eyes glued to the piano bench, and only turned to give him a small smile when he marched up the steps. Dave followed closely after, watching the back of John’s head. 

“I’ll just warm up first,” John said. Dave took a seat beside him, swan perilously balanced on his lap. 

John wiped his palms on his pants, fingers hovering over the keys. He took a deep breath and hesitantly pressed down, a tinkling sound flowing from the piano. His hands moved rigidly at first, but as he relaxed, his fingers continued to move quicker and quicker down the keys, and Dave was enjoying the old music flowing back inside him. He found tranquility in John’s music, something that was so him. He’d almost forgotten how well John had played, the way his fingers moved swift and fluid, rippling over the water and weaving through the notes.

But even before the piece was finished, John slammed his hand against the key, a jarring noise filling the room. 

Dave started, swan almost falling off his lap. 

“Shit,” John mumbled, sliding his good hand off the piano and into his lap. “Fuck, shit. Fucking shit.”

Dave watched as his other hand simply splayed out against the keys, left abandoned and flat even while he gripped his other hand into a fist. He had turned his face away from Dave, hidden in the shadows even when the stage light beamed bright a few inches away on the piano reflection. 

It was anger. He could tell it was anger, bottled up and bursting. And he didn’t know what to do about it, sitting next to him, confused and feeling the strange raspiness of the foil scratching against his legs. John’s shoulders shook and he was close, close enough to see the way his hair rumpled, the wrinkles on his suit. He was angry, and Dave didn’t know what to do. But John’s hand that had once been shattered still lay flat on the piano, and he touched it. 

He didn’t know what he was going to do, but John’s hand curled up towards him. He thought it did look weaker in comparison to his good hand. When he touched the fingertips, he thought he could feel a weakness to the way it pressed back. But it was still John’s hand and he cradled it, touched the long fingers and the flat of his palm, held it between his hands for warmth. John had turned to look at him, rage still fixated on his face, but something pleading mingling with the hard lines of his mouth and his eyebrows tilted downwards. He was angry, but he was looking at Dave with kindness still.

“Sup,” Dave said.

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t give me that bullcrap. Tell me what’s wrong, Egbert.”

“It’s nothing! Fuck.” John turned away, shameful, but Dave clenched down tight on his hand. He refused to let him go, not when he was close to the boiling point, but he was afraid. This John in front of him was angrier than he’d ever seen, but this was still his wacky neighbor. He didn’t know what to say, afraid of stabbing open the fresh wound, afraid of getting blood on his hands. 

“John,” he murmured.

“It’s really nothing, okay? It’s your birthday, and you should have a good time, and I shouldn’t be gunking up this mess just because I can’t keep it together!” John swallowed, and Dave could see the anger quashing down, the compactor taking the roaring anger and trying to turn it back into a cube.

“I’m having a good time,” he said, mildly, “But I bet I’d have a better time if you’d tell me what’s gunking you up.”

“You wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t.”

“That’s probably what I’d think too, couple years ago. I didn’t want to hear any of this nonsense about feelings and mushy crap. But then some doofus went ahead and said I was his best friend, and it’s practically best friend duty to listen to this shit.” 

“It’s stupid,” John said, insistent. His weak hand curled, and Dave gripped it tight.

“I love listening to stupid shit.” 

“It’s just—” John bowed his head, lip bitten. “It’s just, my fingers, they aren’t the same, and I told you it was stupid. It was really stupid.” 

“That’s not stupid. Did they say anything at the hospital?” Dave held John’s fingers in his hand. He sketched along the frail bone, following the natural curve. 

“I’m just scared. That it’ll never be the same, that the music will come out all weird because I can’t press it hard enough, because it hurts when I press it, all kinds of crap. It’s stupid because I’m not even a pianist, and for some stupid reason, it hurts a lot to think about if I can’t ever play like that again.” John’s voice was strained. His shoulders slumped and his face was turned towards the floor, pained under the light. 

“Just because it’s not the most important thing in your life doesn’t mean it’s not important. If it’s got you all hot under that tight collar, then it’s important.” Dave fell silent, holding John’s hands together. When his turntables had broken, John had fixed them. But Dave wasn’t a doctor, just a spin doctor. He found himself, as always, at a loss for words. He traced a vein on the inside of his wrist, the skin eager and yielding. 

“I guess it’s more than that.” John glanced at him, hesitant. “To my dad, me playing piano was a really big thing. Huge. And now this happened, and it makes me feel like a big failure. A big flopping failure.”

“Is your relationship with your dad not good?”

“It’s good, but it’s just…” John ducked his head. “Sometimes I worry.”

“From what I’ve heard, your dad sounds like a good dude. Does he know you hurt your fingers?”

“No, I made Jade promise not to tell him.”

“What do you think he’d say if you told him?”

“I don’t know, Dave, I am not my dad.” John shrugged, defeated. “But I guess he’d worry and want to see me and take care of me and send me a gajillion care packages.”

“Sounds like he’s one tough cookie.”

“The toughest.” John chuckled, the first signs of a small, tired smile creeping on his face. “I guess you’re right. I wanted to impress him so much that I kinda lost sight of things.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said. I’m completely right.” Dave touched over his fingers, deft and slow. “Sometimes you worry too much, dude. You’re the only guy I know who doesn’t give a shit if his shirt got mustard stains when he goes out, but you flip the fuck out because your dad who sends you soppy care packages might get mad because he can’t hear your moonbutt sonata?”

“I only flip a little bit of fuck. But, I dunno. When things mean so much, you gotta worry, right?” 

“Jesus Christ, have a little more faith in people. Don’t bottle that shit in, just say what you gotta say.” Dave hesitated. “I’m not gonna speak for your sis or your dad, but you… to me, our… our thing, together. It’s cool. It’s not gonna get ruined forever just because you can’t cook or do a handstand. People got more shit than that. Even if you look mad uncool talking about shit that worries you, then you should say it. Because I’m… because you’re worth it. L’oreal.” 

John mulled it over. Dave could see him thinking, subdued and quiet. He was a quiet image on the piano bench, the waiters still clearing out the dishes behind him. The clatter of dishes filled the room, accompanied by the swish of the tablecloth, and it was a musical background to his occupation with John’s face. Every sigh from John meant something new, and Dave held his hand tight, waiting for the final judgment. 

“Shut up, asshole.” But John was smiling, and Dave smiled awkwardly back with all the warmth he could muster. John didn’t seem to want to say more, so Dave sat and rubbed his hand warmly, trying to instill in him all his good wishes.

The swan still sat in his lap, waiting for him to leave, but he clung onto the piano bench for longer. He’d been born with a sensitive sense of time, and he could tell the expected time to start leaving the restaurant was upon him. But John’s relieved face, staring down at the piano keys like he was greeting an old friend, compelled him to stay. He wanted to stay because he felt relief spreading through his chest that John at least looked better. And it was something more. 

He thought, for a split second, that he could have kissed him.

The thought struck him out of the bench, and he’d tucked the swan under his arm in an attempt to smooth down his jagged exit. John didn’t seem to notice, still shy and looking tired from the conversation. Dave elected to be the driver, letting John nod off somewhat in the passenger’s seat. He’d grown fond of John’s car, the way the walls leaned inwards, but now he felt like he was suffocating in the car. 

“Hey,” John said, leaning on his door at the end of the night, “You had a good birthday?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the birthday bash. And thanks for not dumping a bucket of water over my head again.”

“Halloween was awesome.” 

“We’re never talking about that.”

“But really, thanks.” John beamed despite his tired eyes. “You’re a good friend. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you are seriously the—”

Dave shut the door in his face, listening to John’s soft laughter from the other side. Midnight had come and passed, another birthday gone. It was, he had to admit, better than his last one, where he’d bought himself a cupcake and thought it was sad he wouldn’t even splurge for an actual cake. But this birthday had brought in its own host of troubling thoughts.

Liking John, not liking John, he didn’t know. It felt like things were moving too fast and too slow, growing out of hand, not something he could control. He couldn’t buy or sell, he could only sit on his couch and eat cold leftovers, trying to dissect the strange lingering emotions inside him. 

\--

Dave had a favorite suit store, lit under the soft glow of industrial sized spotlights. Everything seemed sharp, even the table edges, and the suits hung in attractive styles off the rack. Even the mannequins were less creepy as mannequins were wont to be, and Dave appreciated that. They even had small mints in the bathroom, which Dave concluded was the epitome of class. 

John, dragged along, was slower to embrace this class. His mind was elsewhere, head swinging around to glance, startled, at every mannequin. When Dave returned with a few suits for him to try, he caught John trying to make small talk with a particularly realistic mannequin. 

“What’s with you today?” Dave spun John around, matching the suit against his frame. He pressed the soft folds of the cloth over his broad shoulders, pulling out the sleeve to match his arm length, and handsy over his hips to test the fit. John, on his part, acted the obliging if distracted mannequin. 

“I don’t have a lot of sick days left. On account of me busting up my hand big time.” 

“Sucks, dude.” Dave draped a dark suit over his arms, pushing him towards the dressing room. The light blue walls and embedded lights cast a charming look over the area, and he sat outside the doors for him. The couch was surprisingly fuzzy. He could appreciate that. 

“Yeah. But there’s this—thing, I could do, and I could go up and visit my dad and everything.” Behind the doors, John was getting dressed, exchanging his beat up duds for Dave’s select choice of spiffy suits. When it came to suits, he could always choose the spiffiest. 

“Sounds like a good deal.” 

“It’s an okay deal. Just—it’s a thing, where… I dunno. Maybe I shouldn’t go. It’s this thing where I go up north and look at the problems these fisheries are having, and it’s a great opportunity, and these problems have been plaguing the fisheries for a while so it’s a as soon as possible sort of thing.”

“The good ol’ ASAP run around. So, you get to swim with the poisoned fishes. What’s wrong with that?” Dave leaned forward, grasping his hands together. 

John swung the door open, and Dave let go of his hands. Even though John looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze, Dave congratulated himself on his impeccable taste. The suit fit perfectly over his frame, accenting the slope of his shoulders and draped snug over his hips, long lines only bringing out what was already there in his stalwart figure. Even the particular shade of gray seemed to bring out his eyes, which Dave hadn’t even considered. His own eyes brought out the color of his suits. But the gray only accentuated the brightness of the blue, owlish beneath his dark frames. Dave didn’t have time to get up and comb through his hair for a better look at his handsome face when John was already sitting down beside him, head bowed.

“I’d be going away for some months, Dave.” 

Dave dropped his hands.

“Oh,” he said, or he thought he heard himself say. It seemed distant and tinny, and his response sat uncomfortable between them. He struggled to understand what reaction this elicited in him, surprise shooting through him fast enough to numb his other emotions. Sorrow, perhaps, if he let himself feel it. But he never let himself feel it.

“Should I do it?” John ventured, rubbing his wrist. 

“Why are you asking me? It’s your life.” Dave sat up, leaning against the back of the couch. “I don’t depend on your food everyday. Cook my own shit. This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Oh,” John said softly. “Yeah. I guess it doesn’t.” 

“Did you want me to…” Dave struggled to end his sentence. He had started it, thinking he’d end with “care,” but it seemed too acidic. He didn’t know why he wanted John to want him to care when he could just do it himself. If he looked deep in himself, he could probably see if he did care. But he wasn’t looking inwards. He was looking at where the doors of the dressing room had parted open, John’s old clothes stuffed on the bench and the mirror reflecting back himself and all of John’s looks of disappointment beside him.

“It’s okay. Um, I’ll probably leave soon. It’s a last minute sort of thing, and you know, where I’m going, I’m not gonna need no cars. Or cell phones. Or laptops. It doesn’t really get connections, so I won’t… I won’t call, for a while, but I’ll try to write. And then when I come back, I’ll stay with my dad for a few days and then… I should get back right on time for Rose’s wedding.”

“Yeah,” Dave said, struck by the thought. “You have to go to Rose’s wedding.”

“I will! Promise.” John summoned up all his good humor, bumping him on the shoulder. “And you’ll miss me tons, I know you will.” 

“I won’t. Is your dad and the fish the only reason for… leaving?” 

“Why else? I love fish.”

“You do love fish. Just wondering, since the sun revolves around me, if it had anything to do. With us.” Dave said, dropping his gaze to his hands. In the mirror, John had been gazing at him with his brows furrowed, and he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand any of it, especially not the tinny classical music over the speakers that overrode his senses. John leaving on a jet plane shouldn’t have done anything to him, but even when he tried to ignore it, things were stirring in his stomach. Sharp pangs, bitter in his mouth, an old residual ache from his chest. He was occupied with the thought. 

“No, not… No. We’re good. I mean, I wish we were back to normal again, but…” John shrugged, a motion Dave could feel beside him.

“Aren’t we normal?” he asked. “We’ve been hanging out. You took me somewhere fancy on my birthday.”

“Maybe. But, I hope it doesn’t make you too uncomfy, I just never knew how much I liked you until now.” John shifted in his seat, suit against the soft fuzziness of the couch.

“It doesn’t make me uncomfy,” Dave said, but John appeared to pick up the undertone of confusion.

“Before, I was just going with it and not really thinking. But now it seems everything you do, I can… I like them, all the more. I think about it and I think you’re pretty great, and I get to joke around you all the time, and it’s been a blast everyday, and… I just don’t know how to act around you, except the same way I’ve been doing, but it’s still not super normal.”

“We’ve been good,” Dave said, urgently. “Everything’s been the same, it’s not acting.”

“Even you’re not the same, Dave. You’ve been nicer and really caring, and it’s not like you’re any less mean. You’re still mean, Dave,” John said, glancing at him with an appraising eye, “but the things you’ve been doing lately, it’s like we are way more open with each other. And I don’t just gotta rib you for your rib eating skills, I can talk about… life.”

“I haven’t been acting any different.”

“But you have! It’s good, but at the same time…” John dropped his head.

“What if I gave you some closure?” Dave asked, his words preceding his thoughts. “What if I just outright said I didn’t have any feelings for you, would that make you feel better?”

“I don’t need it,” John said, “but it’d be something, yeah.”

Dave had set himself up, built the perfect platform for telling him off. But when the moment came, and passed, and passed for several seconds more, he couldn’t do it. He’d been working all his life to carefully construct himself, and now things were falling down around him. Something hurt, ached, stabbed through him, and he couldn’t say it. He had thought it was possible to like John, to see him in a romantic light, but he was suddenly struck by an unspoken fear that clogged his throat and left John smiling awkwardly and excusing himself to change out of the nice suit. All he had to do was say it, and he couldn’t even do that. 

He bought John the suit, and listened with half an ear as John settled back into the familiar topic of movies. John was right, as happened on occasion. The normalcy was strained between them, and John talked with a higher pitch than normal. Dave just drove, thoughts clinging to his brain. If he liked John, then he would have kissed him. If he didn’t like John, then he would have said it. But neither of those things happened, and he was left watching John showing him his suitcase at the apartment, at how the handles flipped both ways. 

“But I guess you should go now,” John concluded, after flipping the handle for the thirty-first time. “It’s getting pretty late.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” Dave glanced out the window at where the sunlight had already dimmed, orange glow against the fronds of John’s plants. He withdrew to his apartment, and John leaned against the door, hesitant.

“Dave,” he said, finally, “It’s really okay with you? That I can go? It’s none of your business, I know, but I really would like your opinion on junk like that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you can go. I don’t care.” Dave shrugged, and John sighed. But it wasn’t a normal sigh, his usual dramatic heave and eye roll whenever Dave pointed out something spectacular about himself. It was a small, almost imperceptible one, a sigh that wasn’t for anyone else but John. The sound slipped out into silence, but it sounded heavier than it was. It felt like John was giving something up, and Dave watched the door shut in his face. 

\--

John wasn’t leaving on a jet plane, as the song would like to chime, but on a subway to get to the airport. He packed fairly light, just a suitcase and a satchel bag. Dave would have had a bag dedicated to hair products alone, but he supposed that was why he had never gone to visit isolated fisheries. 

“Don’t catch a cold,” he said, busying himself at John’s collar. “Don’t follow strangers home, and don’t share your toothbrush with anyone. Shit’s sick.”

“I won’t! Jeez.” John harrumphed, messing his collar up again with a haughty air. The subway had not yet arrived, leaving them sitting on the cool plastic seats that almost seemed to know the exact shape to make Dave’s ass the most uncomfortable. People milled around them, passing the pillars where old movie posters wilted underneath the glass. Dave had bought the newest Seventeen from a magazine vendor, which he now had splayed on his lap. Knowing that he was a Sagittarius came in handy, but the article on knowing how to dress edgy was certainly informative. He privately thought if he ever got the chance, he’d certainly dress John as preppy, but who was he kidding. Of course he’d have the chance, and of course he’d do it damn well.

“Send a postcard if you can. Sappy wish you were here, that sorta deal.” Dave licked his fingertip, turning another page.

“You’re really flipping off the walls about me, jeez. Like some sorta ninja.” 

“A ninja doing acrobatic pirouettes.”

“Why do you always have to one-up everything? You’re not that cool.”

“I am that cool. I am that cool and everything more.” 

John scoffed, standing up. The electronic ticker sign was telling him that five minutes remained until the train pulled into the station. The number flashed in green, and Dave finally shut his magazine. This was it. He wouldn’t see John for some months, and then John would return, like always, dented up but fixed. Some time away would do him good, especially visiting his father. When he came back, months later, things would be different. Maybe he’d meet a nice guy who was also into fishes. Maybe Dave would meet someone, too, and bring them back to their apartment. Maybe, after John’s long journey, they’d be somewhat distant from each other. 

Even if they went back to normal, it would be the same. It would always be the same until John met someone else, and John would come and John would go, but Dave would always stay the same. Dave stayed in his apartment, but John was more than that. John always returned to him, but one day, he might not. And he saw before him, in those months, desolation. Until he heard the rumble of the approaching train, he didn’t realize how much he valued coming home to something other than his empty apartment. Everything had gained more light, more enjoyment, and now all this would be taken away. Nights of sitting alone, back to his television, eating out of the cereal box. All that had given him such joy now turned cold in his stomach, and he would miss him, the person who welcomed him home at night and greeted him enthusiastically in the morning, someone who knew whale calls and couldn’t do a good imitation of one to save his life, someone who cared.

He didn’t know what he was doing when he grabbed John’s arm, or when he twisted him towards himself. He wanted, so much, of something. He wanted something to change for the better, and he hugged him, close, with his head buried into his shoulder. Underneath him, he could feel the vibrations of John’s shudder that accompanied the stronger rumbles of the train, the surprise in John’s questioning voice, the hand that went gentle on his back.

“Don’t go,” he said. His words were hardly a mumble into his jacket, but the train had slowed down and it was quiet enough, close enough to John’s ear to make him start, to make the hand on his back hold him tighter.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll miss you,” he said, or he tried to say, all his words stumbling out. “I’ll really fucking miss you, because shit, I don’t have friends like you. Nobody has a friend like you in the whole damn world, and I don’t know, what I feel about you, but it’s important, whatever it is, you’re important.” 

He clutched at him, fingers clenched on his back, and his heart felt wretched. He was embarrassed to be clinging onto him in the middle of the platform, plaintive and begging, like he was a small child rather than a grown man. His dignity wilted in the face of his desperation, the keening sense inside him that flourished when John was there and faded away when he was gone. 

“I’ll be back, Dave. Soon as a jiff.”

“But you’ll be fucking gone, and that matters. You’ll be gone and I’m a fucking mess,” he said, pulling away and grabbing onto his arms. “But when I’m with you, I’m a better person and not just a shitstain. I’m actually happy and you don’t know how long it’s been. I don’t know, shit. I don’t want to fuck this up. I’m fucking afraid of fucking this up, because I’m not used to having people who honestly fucking care, and I’m fucking this up right now, but I have to tell you—”

The speaker came to life, announcing that it would be leaving, and the beeping had begun. John glanced up at the speaker, but Dave knew he was running out of time. They were both running out of time, and he shoved John and his suitcase onto the train. John gripped his flippy handle, turning to look at him with wide eyes. 

“I have to tell you—” And he didn’t know what he had to tell him. They were standing apart only inches, but the doors were sliding closed and he stood behind the line, John watching him with mouth agape and satchel bag thumped against his leg and suitcase by his side because he was leaving, and Dave gripped his magazine in his sweaty fist.

“Thank you,” he said. 

The door closed with a slight hiss, and the train was rumbling to start again. John hurried to the door, watching him through the glass pane and saying something, but Dave wasn’t there for some romantic one off. He wasn’t going to chase the plane off to some airport, or launch himself at John. It wasn’t his scene. It was his scene to watch John pass by, watch the other trains whip away, leaving him only with the advertisements lining the wall and a new bunch of people to mill around him. 

He was alone now. That was added to the fact that he had practically begged John to stay, like a total weenus, and this made it a below average day. But he mechanically drove home and mechanically didn’t look at the unlit door next door, sitting on the couch and calling Rose to be soothed. As always in matters of urgent importance, he got her voicemail. He was halfway mumbling in a message for her to talk to him when he realized he was better off with her not knowing all the details, rapidly switching tactics, urging her to concentrate on her wedding, something about ninjas, and ending dismally. As always. 

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t welcome Rose fixing all his problems, but for once, he didn’t need her over to reprimand his neighbor. He thought, for once, he could do this. By himself. The desolation, shame, and loneliness in his chest made him ache. But they were his feelings, and if he thought himself strong, then he’d be strong with a nice thick can of ice cream for strength. He might not be able to look at the side door, but he could sit on his couch and sulk for a while. But when he finally got up to take a piss, he kicked something out from underneath his couch.

It was a scrunched up paper, small and indistinguishable. When he unfolded it, he was surprised to see it was a post-it note. He supposed that all the times he’d cleaned John’s apartment, he’d never actually done more to his own than a quick once-over. But this post-it note, with the blue smiley face, was familiar. 

The stickiness on the back had long faded away, but he found a plain magnet to attach it to his refrigerator. He sat a while, eating ice cream and staring at the refrigerator door. Liking John, not liking John. These things that he could hardly let himself feel were finally taking shape within him, something painful, but something happier.

“I like you,” he told his refrigerator door. 

That sounded about right.


	5. John had come home

A lot could change in a few months.

Dave tried to grow a beard. Dave stopped trying to grow a beard. Nobody noticed said beard growth. He rearranged his furniture and started putting up more pictures of birds and dead animals, things that comforted him. Still, sitting over his television set was the birthday present of a feather. He actually finished watching _Degrassi High_ , and he was not disappointed. He bought some new pairs of underwear and after some deep thought, some new pairs of pants. His sharp furniture was replaced with things more to his liking, no less fashionable but now in burgundy and ladybug red. His apartment had somehow transformed from sharp angles into comforting shapes and personal objects. It was strange and unnaturally natural. 

Rose’s wedding came upon him, washing over in slow ebbs. Occupied with the planning, she only stopped by to personally hand off her wedding invitation, which was perfectly gilded in gold and on creamy white paper, specially designed with a warning note from her fiancée to not wear anything stupid or so help her. Since her fiancée was a seamstress, clothes were obviously important. But for once, she was of little faith. Dave already planned on wearing a tuxedo that day, just to outdress the other suits and ties of the bunch. Subtle, but just enough to irritate her. Perfect. 

And he thought of John. 

It was impossible not to think about him, and even more impossible not to miss him. He’d forgotten what it was like to return to an empty apartment without any food waiting for him, and spending his time alone in aching misery in front of his television. He knew himself as melodramatic, but for once, he didn’t need to pretend. He got it. He understood why people listened to soppy love songs all day, one of five million who whispered to themselves that the song described their life perfectly. He’d become one of the masses who mulled around their couches, hugging pillows to their chests and pretending they weren’t missing anybody, it was just that the infomercial was particularly moving. 

Missing wasn’t enough. He complemented his ache with worry. Maybe John was too busy at the fisheries. Maybe John was swimming with the dolphins. Maybe John was rolling around with a manatee, not thinking at all about his little old neighbor. He knew John couldn’t get calls or emails, but it seemed unfair that there was a part of the world so far away from him. Time had a way of changing things, and every moment might be a moment more that John was forgetting him in favor of some hot fish scientist who was equally interested in fish. Even worse, John could very well be in some random fish accident. He spent more time than he was willing to admit with just hoping John played it safe and not stupid. John was stupid, John forgot to wear his coat, John would get a cold, John wouldn’t eat because he was too busy working. Dave contemplated this over cold bowls of soup. 

There were days, he had to admit, that were particularly bad. Even as the colder weather warmed up and the leaves budded on the trees, his feelings seemed to twist the opposite way. A pleasant day could send him reeling into his bed, trying to pep talk his way out of the feelings, and the feelings giving a quieter but more adamant pep talk back. It wasn’t that he was lonely. He had close friends who were surprisingly eager to meet with him, and he found himself calling to invite out Jade for lunch, or meeting with Rose, or dropping by the aquarium whenever there was anything mildly interesting about an exhibit. John’s friends called on him, and he found himself occasionally inviting the people from his floor out to drinks. Some were surprisingly pleasant, and he was even more surprised to see they all had the same feelings about the coffee. 

But he had his low moments. Unlike John, he was prone to sulking and thriving in his moroseness. The hours ticked by and he befriended tubs of ice cream and shitty television shows. He took up the habit of staring at sunrises morosely. It was a bad habit, and difficult to shake. He tried to throw himself into his work, and it was exciting to the point whenever he remembered John and he had to bury his face into his hands.

Still, even the most morose points of his life were forced aside with Rose’s wedding. The feelings clung onto him, but the welcome obsessive thinking about the situation had to be put on hold. For once, it was Rose who called for him to come over, and Rose who fretted over the details. He never ceased to be surprised by the way she turned from domineering smirking mistress to worried over ordering different types of flowers. 

“It has to be perfect,” she told herself in the mirror, practiced and earnest. Dave stood behind her, rearranging her hair to best carry the crown and the wispy veil. It was the night of the rehearsal dinner, and the night before her wedding. She’d be wearing a simple casual dress for the dinner, but she insisted on Dave’s attentive eye on looking over her wedding dress in private. 

“No shit, Watson. It’ll be perfect because it’s your wedding day.” He gathered her hair underneath his hands. She had grown her hair out to her waist, but had shortened it to chin length for the occasion. It was a matter of great concern to her. She tried to hide her fussiness over her hair, but he could tell that they shared blood. The Strider-Lalondes did not merely brush their hair. Their hair was an occasion.

“You’re surprisingly calm.” Rose smoothed out her necklace, adjusting her wedding dress. They had requested everyone to dress formal for the dinner, so Dave was already dressed for the rehearsal in his best t-shirt with his favorite band, Gerbil Goatees, skinny jeans with a designer rip on the knee, and his favorite pair of Converse. He could not wait to hear her fiancée seethe, even if Rose didn’t bat an eye. 

“Why wouldn’t I be calm? I’m not the one getting hitched.”

“A year ago, I would have thought you would be flipping shits,” she said calmly. “But I may have underestimated you, for once.”

“Thanks.” 

“I do mean it.” Rose adjusted the veil, then patted his hand to move it back to where he’d previously set it. “I can still remember when you refused to leave your apartment. You would fill up my phone with your incessant messages for days on end.”

“You mean just yesterday?” But even he knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t that he wasn’t close to his sister anymore. They still shared that bond, and he relied on her for everything. But things were becoming different. He didn’t call her for hours on end, and a sense of mellowness had entered into their sharp quips. He wondered if it was adulthood that changed them, or something else, that took away their barbs and replaced them with something else. 

“I’m glad,” she said. “And I expect your best man speech to be the best.”

“Of course it’s the best. Your new wife’s gonna love it.” 

“Which means she’ll hate it.” Rose’s mouth quirked into a small smile. 

“You know it.” He grabbed her lipstick off the table, picking out a darker shade and passing it over to her. Tired of standing, he dragged a chair to sit beside her as she applied it with a masterful swoop of her hand.

“The biggest surprise is that you agreed to take care of the music for the dancing,” she said, staring into the mirror. “You haven’t touched those turntables in years.”

“Yeah, well. I laid down some serious ice cream fund dough to get them fixed up, might as well use them. I only didn’t because I was afraid of screwing them up.” Dave shrugged. “But if I have ‘em, might as well use ‘em. You wanted your first dance to be Ke$ha, right?”

Rose placed her hands into her lap, and he thought she was objecting to the first choice dance. He was already formulating a quip about Phil Collins would be their second dance when she turned towards him, and he quieted down, struck by how quietly happy she looked in her elegant wedding gown, without fancy frills, just sleek and fit, that faint flush underneath her face reserved for her girlfriend. 

“I’m glad,” she said again, “I’m glad for you.” 

He could feel the heat rise to his face, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he took her hands into his, the ring cold against his fingers.

“Congratulations, sis,” he said. She laughed, turning to clear away her table. But he noticed a brighter sparkle to her eyes. 

“And John’s probably gonna be back tomorrow.” Dave said, trying to give a nonchalant shrug. “So you don’t have to worry about a weird empty chair.”

“I believe Jade mentioned something about that, yes. I hope he isn’t too tired from his trip.” Rose smiled at him from the reflection in her mirror. “And I’m sure you’ll be happy about it, too.” 

“Yeah, well. A door in the wall that never opens is kinda disappointing.” 

“I remember your first reaction to him. Quite abhorrent. I expected you to feel enraged to find that I invited him, so you may imagine my exorbitant surprise upon your insistence on inviting him as your personal guest.” 

“I remember your first reaction to him, all creepy. You kept smiling and looking at me like you knew something I didn’t.” Rose paused in her clearing of the table, lips pursing slightly in thought.

“Did I? I don’t recall.” Rose stood up, pulling another dress from her closet. “I do remember that I’d never seen you talk so much about anyone else.” 

He thought, for a moment, that she must know his secret about John. But she only picked at the dress, wiggling out the hanger, and he settled for a noncommittal answer instead.

\--

At the end of the party, where Rose’s fiancée glared at him for a good portion, he was surprised to see someone familiar admiring the selection of flowers on the table.

“Jade,” he said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Dave!” Jade turned, grinning. “Hello! How are you this very fine day?”

“How can anyone not be great with a free dinner?” He leaned on the tablecloth, folding his arms across his chest. She was wearing a casual dark dress and bottlecap earrings, elegant and strange. He had to admit that he was glad to see her, a familiar face amidst all of the company. Not that this had been a particularly large party. For all his bemoaning about his own friends, he’d somehow failed to recognize Rose was content with her small group of close friends as well. 

“I ate three chicken legs,” she said dreamily. “But John had to leave early because he was so tired. He was real glad to see Rose again, though!” 

“John?” He tried to put his hand down on the table, but he missed the table. He tried to recover and pretend he meant his hand to sit on his thigh, but he was sweating and growing red in the face. His heart had shuddered for an unmistakable moment, his breath hitching up to his throat and now his blood thumped to his fingers twice as fast. 

“Yeah, he was really tired from his trip. He only stopped by to say hello to Rose.” She stabbed a shrimp with a skewer. “But when he called from his dad’s house, he sounded like he was really looking forward to the wedding. The big day tomorrow, huh? How does it feel?”

“Scary,” he said. 

“Yeah, I guess it would be! Having your sibling get married.” She chewed on her shrimp thoughtfully, and it took him a moment to realize the question had been directed at the wedding, not at John’s return. Jade seemed so self-assured in his return, but he supposed confidence came with actually having seen him. 

He had missed John, and he’d been counting the days to Rose’s wedding and John’s return, but his slow and inevitable arrival was too much for him. He could barely keep up the small talk with Jade. Every nerve in his body felt electrified, and he was nervous. He combed his hair, then parted his hair, then combed his hair again, checking his reflection in the dull reflection of the marble floor. A particularly dense scuff mark on the floor made him frantically try to redo his hair all over again.

Jade was talking about the wedding, which would have been pleasant, but Dave found himself unable to trail along. He was thinking about John, and he felt almost sick with nervousness about seeing him again. He wanted to ask her questions, about whether he was different, if he said anything about him, if John had a hot fish scientist boyfriend. His mouth felt dry, parched lips and sandy tongue, and he tried to sip his orange juice without appearing like he was guzzling it down.

“—and John said that the flowers were obviously violet, but it’s really more purple,” Jade was saying, and that was all the opening Dave needed to launch himself too eagerly into the conversation that he’d previously only been humming along.

“Yeah, John. Weddings. John. How was—he. From the trip. Other than tired, I already know he was tired, because you told me he was tired.” Smooth. Subtle. Perfect.

“Oh! He was great, way tired, but great. He actually just came back like an hour ago. He had a good time and he got to stay at his dad’s place for a while, you know, they had a good talk about things. Did you know he was worried how his dad would think about the whole piano thing with his fingers? Silly John,” she said affectionately. Even if she noticed anything odd about Dave’s behavior, she didn’t show it. Though she was usually adept at picking up on Dave’s small traits, today she seemed to dwell more on the upcoming wedding than anything. 

“His dad took it well?”

“Not at all! He was so worried about John breaking his fingers that he wanted to keep him home for a few more days. But the piano stuff, nah, not worried at all.”

“Your family has a habit of trying to keep John.”

“He has a habit of making people feel that way,” she said optimistically. He had to concede to that. All his habits orbited around picking his boogers. John seemed to have the upper hand when it came to dignity of habits. 

“I guess I understand,” he said, turning his eyes towards where Rose was accepting congratulations from some friends. “I have a sibling too.”

“I am a demanding sibling! Oh, but I wouldn’t really consider myself super demanding. But sometimes I remember I don’t call him a whole lot. But even though it took me a while to figure you out, I knew you were someone who’d look after him. So I don’t have to call him, I guess!”

“Yeah, that’s the natural outcome,” he said automatically, and she laughed. “Why was I so hard to figure out? It’s just me. I’m a simple man with simple needs. Video games and popcorn, vegetables optional.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. You just seemed so indifferent to him! But, you know, I think you really care about him. And that’s nice.” Jade twisted her head to glance towards the table. “Your sister’s nice, too. I really enjoyed talking with her.”

“Yeah, she’s a hoot. John’s back at the apartment now?” 

“Yes! He wanted to make sure he didn’t oversleep for the wedding, but he gets terrible jet lag.” 

He parted with her amicably, hurrying back to the apartment. He hadn’t seen John at the dinner, though Jade accredited this to the fact he only dropped by a few minutes to reassure Rose that he would attend her wedding. But once back to his apartment, he dropped his coat over a chair and looked over to the side door, where the looming frame now sent tingles to his fingers. He leaned on the chair and stared at the door, which had changed from mere door to something more fearful and magnificent. John may very well be on the other side, and he didn’t know what to say or do. John would, after all, be a different person. Dave stroked his chin and thought that months could change a person. He didn’t know if he should try for a handshake or a hug.

But he summoned up his courage and molded his hand over the doorknob until the knob had grown uncomfortably warm and his palm uncomfortably sticky. He twisted open the door, and felt a surge of disappointment when the apartment was dark. Perhaps John had gone to stay at his sister’s place or a hotel closer to the wedding. But all the relief that had slid off now came snapping back, and his fingers tightened over the doorknob when he saw John’s bedroom door had been closed. When John had left for his trip, the door had been parted open, and Dave hadn’t moved things around in John’s apartment save for watering his plants and feeding his salamander.

John had come home.

\--

He was making his infamous sunny side up turned scrambled eggs in John’s kitchen when he heard a rustle behind him. He’d woken up earlier, even before he was required to help out at the preparations for the wedding. After a few minutes of frantic debate with himself, he’d persuaded himself to make breakfast for John, just to make sure John wasn’t late to the ceremony. But even while he flipped the pancakes dangerously close to the ceiling, he tried to think up possible ways to greet him. The weather, perhaps. Or a reprimand about being late, even when he wasn’t. A reprimand for being early if he was late. A joke. A handshake. A nod. 

And all the ideas flew out of his head when he turned around to see John leaning against the counter.

His palms grew sweatier and he swallowed instinctively, heart jumping. Though he hadn’t seen John for some time, he recognized him instantly. There was the same face and the same familiar grin, the casual pose like it hadn’t been months since they saw each other. John looked exhausted from the core, bags under his eyes, and he’d gotten a haircut somewhere along the way. He looked like he’d been outdoors in windy weather, lips chapped and hair flung in every which way, but the latter, at least, was familiar.

“Hi, John,” he said.

“Sup.” And John didn’t leave him any time for him to try to slip into his greetings regarding the weather, or leave any room for a handshake. He gripped him tight into a hug, which left Dave floundering and carefully trying to see over John’s shoulder to put the frying pan back on the stove. But once he did, he wrapped his hands carefully around his waist, hands to his back. He could feel John’s bones, sharp even under the soft pajamas. He smelled like the sea, salty and strong, and he smelled like himself underneath that. Dave couldn’t compare to John’s hugs, but he enjoyed it and could almost feel his feet lifting from the floor. By the time John was letting go, Dave was reluctant to withdraw. 

A flood of everything had burst in his chest, and the previous months must have been a dry wasteland. He hadn’t realized how much he missed him, and how much he missed having someone who would grin at him and laugh and welcome him like an old friend. Clutching onto a spatula that’d been on the counter, he leaned away and covered his mouth with his hand to recover. 

“Big day today, huh?” John sat down at the counter, struggling to hide a yawn. “I’m really excited for Rose.”

“Don’t push yourself.” He’d forgotten how he acted around John. When he hadn’t cared what John thought about him, he’d been himself. Surly, unmanageable, and uncontrollably witty. But now, he was left scraping at the scrambled eggs and trying to judge if he asked too much or not enough. 

“I’m not! I’ll just probably be a little… sleepy…” John drooped on the counter, stifling a bigger yawn. “How’ve you been, dude?”

“Oh. Yeah, great. Shit’s been cooler than a laden turd cooling off when the sun goes down. Job’s been good. Been working intensely on the Eowick deal, thinking I’m making pretty good headway. And I watched a spelling bee last night. Shit’s intense. And I rented You’ve Got Mail, with Meg Ryans. But I accidentally rented the gay porno version instead, You’ve Got Male. It was pretty decent.”

“Honest mistake.” John smiled at him encouragingly, but Dave hid his face when he turned around to finish preparing the breakfast plate.

“How was your thing?” he asked, presenting him with breakfast. He sat down on a stool to eat his own, though his appetite had suddenly disappeared and he was left picking at his toast. John apparently had a voracious appetite, biting in instantly to the toast with a small, appreciative moan.

“This is good,” John said, “Real good. And yeah! It was good. I got a haircut. By the time the project’s done, I think we are going to help a lot of fish.”

“You’re saving the world, one fish at a time.”

“Shut up, asshat. Oh, but before you go, do you think you can help with the tie on my suit? I just don’t know how to put it on right, and I really want to look good for Rose’s wedding.”

“Planning on picking up hot dudes?” His voice came out slightly hoarse. John paused, but it was only a moment.

“Nah. I’m not… nah.” John poked at his pancake, glancing up at him. “Have you gotten a lovebug?”

“That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard,” he said, “and nah, I haven’t really been looking. If you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” John said automatically, hands folded over the counter. His plate was still half empty and breakfast aroma filled the small kitchen, suffocating and difficult. Dave hesitated, trying not to lose his nerve. 

“You remember when you left for your spring break hullabaloo,” he said, mentally striking himself for starting in the worst possible way. Hullabaloo. Nobody ever said hullabaloo. He could have started with a slick metaphor about partying harder than insert recent celebrity here, but instead, he’d settled for hullabaloo.

“You mean before I left for the research? Yeah, I remember, you dweeb.” John scrunched up his nose, holding back his laughter. 

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were going to laugh with your dweeby little laugh.” Dave shrugged, poking at his breakfast. “Don’t make fun of what I said, fartface.”

“You’re stupid, but what you said wasn’t stupid. Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about, dude. I don’t remember the zact words, but it’s just one buddy missing another.” John stuck a piece of pancake in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I missed you, too. The right amount.”

Dave stole some of John’s pancake, controlling the small twitch of disappointment over his face. His shades hid most of his expressions, but the stab of hurt felt particularly sharp. John’s clarification of missing him the right amount seemed pointed, trying to tell him something. Maybe John hadn’t missed him at all up there, swimming with the whales. He was so busy playing with Clipper and Nemo that he forgot about Dave. 

“How was your weather up there?” he asked instead, drizzing the syrup with wild abandon over his plate.

“Cold. I forgot how cold it could get.” 

“Did you wear a jacket? I told you to wear a jacket, you little shit.” Dave grabbed his hand, counting the fingers to ensure John still had ten. 

“I wore a jacket! I wore two jackets,” John said pompously, the second jacket granting him all the righteousness. “But it was still cold up there. Not like here, you know?” 

“No.” 

John chuckled, and Dave counted his fingers. John’s fingertips had grown chapped and dry, and his nails blunt. But they were warm, and they curled in Dave’s hand, and his friend had come home again. The sweet scent of overzealous syrup and soft clink of silverware were all he needed at the moment, surrounded in a comforting kitchen.

“I missed this.” John said it so softly that Dave almost thought he imagined it. But John was regarding him with an affectionate look, tinged with overwhelming sentiment. Startled, Dave withdrew his hand, and John sighed. It wasn’t a bitter or angry sigh, but John looked out the window and took another bite from his pancakes. 

“John—” He hesitated, hand clenching over the now empty space. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” John glanced at him, wide-eyed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Since I got here, you haven’t done anything sorrying.” 

“I just. I’m just not a touchy feely sort of guy. I’m not used to the touching, or the feeling, just the part where I shit all over your feelings like I’ve taken a truckload of laxatives at Taco Bell and you’re the sorry porcelain throne. But that doesn’t mean I don’t—like you.” His face flushed, and he twisted his fingers together underneath the counter. “It doesn’t mean I don’t care. I do care about you. A whole fucking lot.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Dave. I know you care. I care, too. We care, together,” John said magnanimously, but his eyes seemed sad. “But I think I’ve been really pushing you and guilting you, and that’s a real asshole move.”

“You haven’t been guilting me into anything.” Dave started, bewildered, but John continued to talk to his breakfast. 

“I have! I have, and I’m an asshole, but I decided not to be an asshole. You don’t got to ‘splain nothing, Dave. There are literally plenty of other fish in the sea, and when you finally ring the wedding bells, I’ll be right there and cheering for you. What we got is good, and I know it’s good, because I’ve been happier to see you than any fish. And I really love fish.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he said. 

“It’s okay, Dave. We’re good. I spent most of my time up there just thinking about fish, and it was really calming. And sometimes clamming? I would recommend it. And I think you’re gonna be late to help prepare for the wedding, ‘cuz it’s late o’ clock.”

“That’s not a real time, dumbass,” he said automatically, controlling the sickening feeling in his stomach. This wasn’t going the way he wanted it. Then again, he didn’t know what he wanted, entering into this conversation with some vague wishy-washy dreams. John had forgotten about him during his journey to the fisheries, and that disappointed him. He felt a surge of hurt rise to the back of his throat, and he wanted to lock himself in his room and lick his wounds until he felt better. That was his way of dealing with things, by not dealing with them at all. He didn’t want things to end this way, or even continue that way, but he felt powerless. John sat across the table, and that might as well been miles to him. 

He wanted to tell him something, anything, but John was eager to forgive. And the months had obscured that everything was easier in his head. He was no less the messed up guy who lived across the room and he didn’t have the right to yank John’s chain around. John was a good-natured idiot, and as a bad-tempered genius, he shouldn’t drag him through the mud when he couldn’t even figure out why he always drew back when John got too close. Not when John was trying so hard. 

He was the same, and John was different.

“You really are going to be late. But find me at the wedding and help me fix my tie, okay? I really don’t want to look like a suckbag.” John stirred, and Dave broke out of his reverie. 

“You always look like a suckbag.” But Dave tapped his watch and rose from his chair, reluctant to sidle out and help with the preparations. 

“Don’t be such an ass, you’ll be late to your sister’s wedding.” John had begun to clear the tables, gathering up the empty plates with a knowing grin. 

“Egbert, if you don’t think I’m always an ass, then you don’t know me at all.” He hesitated with his palm on the doorknob. “After the wedding, we should talk.”

“Talk about what?” 

He turned towards John, and tried to memorize every visible second of the apartment. John’s open face, the dishes in the sink, the smooth lines of the counter and the ragged edges of the movie posters. He tried to sink every contour of John’s face into his mind, and he felt stupid and he felt silly, embarrassed and ashamed of his own feelings, but he looked at him in the eye.

“Anything,” he said, and closed the door after him.

\--

Rose’s wedding went off without a hitch, and he didn’t shed any weepy tears when his sister got hitched. He was only moved by the offered drinks at the bar. The simple elegance of the white tablecloth, the clean gazebo surrounded by spring green grass, and the gentle brush of wind against his face made him swear that if he ever got married, he would get eloped in Las Vegas. Just to prove a point. 

His newly married sister was swamped by congratulations. His new sister-in-law was also busy with her side of the guests, but not busy enough to throw withering looks at his tuxedo. He grabbed a slice of wedding cake and drifted off to a picnic table, pulling out a handkerchief to have his fill in peace. Everyone was weepy, though it was just a wedding. Only idiots cried.

The biggest idiot sat next to him, blowing his nose into a thin napkin.

“God,” John said, rubbing at his eyes underneath his glasses. “God.”

“Yes, Margaret, I’m here.” Dave offered him the handkerchief, which John took gratefully. He promptly blew his nose on it and offered the handkerchief back, but Dave politely declined with a sneer.

“Rose is all married now. Married. You know what that means?”

“That Beyoncé song’s not going to apply to her?”

“She’s married!” John blew his nose like a foghorn, and Dave licked the cream of the wedding cake off his fingers. 

“Yeah, doofus, I was there too. Up close and personal to see my sister macking.” Dave wiped his fingertips on a nearby napkin, turning to fuss with John’s tie. John, a mess as always, had puffy eyes and sniffed loudly every so often. Dave salvaged what he could of his appearance, straightening out the tie. It was the suit he’d gotten John, so many months ago, and still as high quality. 

“Thanks for the suit, Dave,” John said, snot-nosed and sniffing into the handkerchief. 

“Thanks for dripping snot all over it. What’s got you so teary-eyed?”

“It’s just really moving! Rose is getting married and it’s just a lot to take in.”

“She’s my sister, not yours. For your disgusting information. Jesus Christ, you’re a bunch of waterworks today.” He took out another handkerchief, fussing at John’s face. John scrunched his nose in irritation, but he stayed still for Dave’s fussing. 

“Yeah, but it’s such a happy day for Rose, you know. And I can imagine if my own sister was getting married, and that’s just a lotta feelings. It’s just going to be different from now on, you know? I’ve known her since she was all little, and now she’s all growed up.”

“She’s still going to be your sister.”

“I guess, but in a totally different way. I mean, she won’t be any less my sister, but it’s gonna be different.” John sniffed louder. 

Dave glanced at Rose, who was talking to her mother. Her face glowed, radiant, and all her worries about a ruined wedding seemed to have faded away. He knew the flowers had been less purple than she’d liked, and the cake tasted stranger than she wanted, but she seemed irrevocably happy. She laughed, she smiled, she twisted to catch sight of her wife at every chance with a full blush over her face. He knew everything about his sister, and she would always be his weird sister who responded to his “a/s/l” with “0/f/our father’s semen,” but things were different. He couldn’t read her completely, the parts reserved only for her wife. 

“Weddings always make me cry,” John said, wiping his nose with the handkerchief. “You’re really strong not to cry.”

“It’s not called strength, it’s called intelligence. And she’s happy. Stupid to cry if she’s happy.” He stabbed a piece of wedding cake, shoving it through John’s mouth. John obediently chewed, even as Dave turned to look at his sister again.

“You can’t help feeling what you feel! And if I want to cry all over your sister’s wedding, that is my prerogative, farty fartsworth.” 

“Shut up, you’re crying all over the cake.” He shifted his knees back underneath the picnic table. “I wanted to talk to you about some shit. Need advice on something.”

“Go for it, dude.”

“Say I have a problem.”

“Sucks for you.” 

After jamming several pieces of cake into John’s mouth to shut him up, Dave folded his hands over the table and started again.

“Say I have a problem, about some shit. Deep shit. It’s fucking deep, a chasm of shit, you do the classic movie trick of dropping a rock off and you don’t hear nothing. It’s like, you’re trying to shoot a football through a hoop. The hoop’s right there, all inviting with its Snitch or whatever just hanging out on it. And you don’t take the shot, and you turn around and you want to take the shot, but the hoop’s already making googly eyes at another hoop and you tangled that hoop’s net all up in its business and you can’t fucking take the shot, but should you try to take the shot, because it’s a damned important shot. But if you miss, that net’s gonna get really fucking more messed up.” 

“Let me stop you right there, okay? First, I want to say, that is exactly how football works and I am damn proud of you for learning that much.” John put his hand on Dave’s shoulder. Dave scoffed under his breath. He didn’t need John’s congratulations to know that his statement was perfectly true, valid, and internationally accepted as correct.

“Second, I have no idea what you are talking about, because you are just jabbering beeswax. But if I know anything, and I do know how to find the circumference of a circle, is that you already got what you need to know.”

“How do you know that?” Dave popped his head up.

“Because you’re smart! You’re way smart, and smarter than you just sounded. You know a gazillion things and your job is super hard.”

“You overestimate me,” Dave mumbled. But John shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“I know you’re dumb, too. You’re so dumb about so many stupid things. But you know what to do in the end. You deal with a lotta money everyday! You know when to take the risk and you know.” John shrugged. “When to know you shouldn’t.”

“You’re really thinking too much of me. I just—don’t know.” Dave struggled. “I’ve spent so much of my life pissing people off, I don’t know how to make them feel good. I’d be responsible if I fucked someone up.”

“Then is it so bad to not do anything?” John grinned, eyes still teary, but remarkably clear. “I mean, if you don’t want to do nothin’, you don’t gotta. Whatever the answer is, you got it in yourself to figure it out.” 

Dave stared at him, then he pushed his shades up to look at him. John was sitting there, as always, remarkably handsome in his suit. He had to admit John was the most handsome of the entire wedding party, refined in a suit, scruffy good charm, an easy grin and hearty laughter. Muscles, charm, and brains. It was incomparable. Even he couldn’t compare with the handsome man sitting next to him, and he flushed at his own thought that he couldn’t deny. And John with his sparkling eyes was right there, ready to forgive and forget and move on, who’d gone to the north and replaced him with fishes, who looked tired and teary-eyed.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But I think I’m starting to get it.” 

“What?”

Dave stood up, grabbing the slim camera out of his pocket. He marched over to where Jade was congratulating Rose. When Rose was finally standing, alone, he snapped a picture of her.

“Another one for your scrapbook?” she asked mildly.

“You looked happy.” 

Even she looked taken aback by his honesty, and he slipped the camera back into his pocket. He had things to figure out, and they were starting to form at the tip of his tongue. When he glanced back at John, he could see his stalwart figure at the table, talking to someone else who had their own slice of cake. It was almost enough. It would have to be enough. He took a deep breath, and walked on.

\--

John was seated away from him, since Dave was a reserved family member. He sat next to Rose, and didn’t eat her food. By the time the champagne had come around, speeches were already starting, one after another, and he was surprised how much he listened. He wanted words of wisdom, nuggets of advice that would lead him on the right path. He thought one way, then the other, than another way, and the stress was wearing him thin. But at least Rose’s face never stopped glowing, and when it was his turn for the best man speech, he stood up to give his usual rap about Rose’s love life, ending with dropping the microphone dramatically.

But he stood there, in front of the audience, and he looked out upon them. Their faces were turned towards him in expectant silence, and he had the glass in one hand and the mic in the other. He couldn’t see John in the crowd, probably seated far away. But he opened his mouth, staring at the tablecloth. 

“I’m not good with talking to people. I’m good at talking at people. Making them do what I want. But I guess I never realized what it really means to actually talk, not just move your mouth muscles around like a carousel and it’s a field trip and all the kids are spinning around and around. So if this speech is crappy, then you know the reason. It’s not a good reason, but better than quoting Dr. Seuss. I know the places my sister will go. They’re damn good places, and they’re damn better because now she’s got someone who’ll go with her.” When he glanced sideways to his sister, even he was surprised to see her small smile. He awkwardly smiled back, and pushed up his shades into his hair. He didn’t quite look out into the crowd, but he felt better.

“For those of you who don’t know my sister, which is the lucky half of you, she’s someone who’s got a sword for a tongue and she’ll eat you whole, if you’d let her. Tonight we’re here to celebrate her finding someone she loves, and she deserves all the happiness that comes out of stuffing yourself with wedding cake. She’s put up with my crappy ass for years, and now she’s getting hitched to someone pretty great. I don’t know what love is, but I think she’s got it in huge fucking buttloads.” 

He combed his hair back, trying to count the stifled gasps from his cursing speech. Below him, the half-eaten salad stared back up at him. 

“A year ago, I was busy trying to keep everything the same. I didn’t want anything to change. I had this one gift that meant so fucking much to me, I didn’t want to ever touch it in case I broke it. But it broke and it got fixed and things changed, and my sister getting married is good, because you can’t just sit there in your room and never change. She’s marrying someone because a bunch of other things make it right. But I know she really loves her, and all the crappy toasters from the wedding registry can’t compare to what she’s got with her wife.” Dave glanced down at her. “By the way, I got you an IOU.”

Rose laughed, and the audience laughed. While the audience laughed because they thought it was a joke, Rose was laughing because she knew it wasn’t. Dave took a deeper breath, and leaned into the microphone.

“I still don’t know what it means to love someone. It’s gooey crap, like you stepped on a melted chocolate chip. But Rose has always been the smart one in the family, and I got all the looks. I hope, whatever the hell it is, that she’s got a best friend with her. Someone who makes her laugh until she look like a mess, thigh slapping and milk coming out of your nose. Someone who wants her to talk to them about anything, and makes her feel good about herself. Someone who… shit, I don’t know. Someone who’s always seen you as who you are and not what you’re fucking pretending to be, and someone who’s seen the best of you even when you’re at your worst, and so you do your best. I don’t know. Maybe you don’t need any of that crap. But maybe what you need is being brave.”

And he wondered if John was still there, or if he’d left early for fishes. If he was even listening to him, if he would understand. Some part of him hoped he would, and some part of him thought he wouldn’t. But though his hands were clammy on the mic, and his heartbeat resounded loud enough to thunder in his ears, he thought it would be all right. Despite the panic, he was calm. His mind felt unusually sharp, like he knew exactly what he needed to do.

“I don’t know,” he said, “if even I’m brave enough to put myself out there. You don’t want to ruin what you got, but you have to open yourself raw. Show them what you have inside, good and bad, and hope they don’t turn tail and run. You gotta put down the mask and just be yourself, and hope you don’t get hurt. Being brave sucks asscrack, and I know it, because you don’t want to lose someone who’s got unconditional love springing out of his sleeves like a shitty magic trick. And if the world was just a big stock market, then it’d be easier to crunch the numbers and calculate the risk. But the world’s not that. Sometimes you have to make some shitty stupid move to be smart. And liking someone might be damn hard to figure out, but if you do, then it’s a damn good feeling. So here’s to my sister and her wife, who are going to live happily ever after because they got love on their side and my rap attached in an email to them that I’m gonna send now.” 

He pulled out his phone to already start tapping on the screen, and the audience took a moment before they realized he was finished. They started their applause, and he was surprised when Rose pulled the phone out of his hands, and hugged him.

“Thank you,” she said affectionately, and if she sounded tearful, he couldn’t see her face. But he carefully put his hands on her back and he thought this felt like the first time he had really hugged her. Things were different, and the same, but different. He patted her on the back.

“I’ll see you, sis.” 

“Go,” she said, pulling back to frame his face with her hands for a moment. But she released him, patting him on the side to leave her already, smiling softly to the crowd. He left his seat, rounding the corners of the table. Nobody seemed to notice him. Someone else had already stood up to speak, but he could tell Rose was already happiest with his speech. No matter how his eyes darted around the room, though, he couldn’t find John. After a few minutes of wandering, he found an empty chair next to Jade, and sat down beside her.

“That was a great speech, Dave,” she said, turning towards him. “I think Rose really liked it!” 

“It was all right.” Dave took the time to spin his phone around for her. “My rap was better.”

“You’re right, it’s really great,” Jade said easily, not looking at his phone. “But you should return to your own seat! John just stepped out for a minute, I am sure he wants a place to sit.”

“Was he going to the bathroom?”

“I don’t really ask, weirdo.” 

He went to search through the bathrooms, but he only found the empty sinks lined up before him. He wandered down the hall, up the steps, down the flights of stairs. He was out in the parking lot when he caught sight of John’s car, and he approached it. If John’s car was still there, then John must be somewhere. He considered going back inside to check out the reception again when he saw John was climbing out of his car, clutching onto a satchel. The satchel was the same one he’d brought along with his trip, though it was now bulging at the seams. But Dave crossed the parking lot in a few strides, approaching him with heated cheeks and hands stuffed into his pockets. John started, car door locking, and he hesitantly approached him near the taillights of his car. 

“I’ve got things to say,” Dave said. “And I have no fucking idea how to say them.”

“You can start with words.” John offered a small smile.

“None of your asshattery today, Egbert. I’ve got something to tell you and it’s a doozy. It’ll take ten rolls of toilet paper to wipe this doozy up, so you better hold onto your britches.”

John automatically clutched onto his belt.

“Not literally, dumbass.”

“You said none of my asshattery today! Jeez, make up your mind.” John wrapped both hands around his satchel. “Whatever you gotta say, Dave, I’ll listen. Take all the time you need.”

Dave chuckled despite himself. Even when his palms were slick with sweat, he had to lean against John’s car and laugh to himself. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You know, I never wanted to explain myself my whole life.” Dave shrugged, straightening out his slumped shoulders. “But the one guy who doesn’t demand an explanation is the one guy I want to give an explanation. I just—got some things to tell you, dude. And what you do with it, it’s up to you. It’ll be all right.”

“You’re kinda worrying me now, Dave.” John’s eyes peered out from behind his frames.

“I know. Shit. It’s nothing bad, just… I wasn’t ready for whatever we had. Right from the start, I didn’t feel like I got my socks and affairs all in order. I just have something to tell you.”

“Okay. I’m listening, Dave.”

“I’ve got something to tell you. It might be really long, but you can’t wander off halfway through. I know you do that.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s really fucking important, so listen up. Clean out the water from your ears, really listen to me.” 

“All right.”

“I have to tell you something. It’s important.”

“Yes.”

“Listen up.”

John laughed, fingers loosening from his satchel. Dave flushed and glanced down at his shoes, adjusting his suit, picking at his cuffs, glancing at his reflection in John’s car, but he felt hot under the collar and his heart surged, pulse rapid in the throbbing of his neck, and he stepped forward, tearing his words out from himself. 

“I think I like you,” he said, and blustered on through the heat rising to his ears and cheeks. “I just I pulled away because I wasn’t ready to open up to you, but now I’m open, like a conked out refrigerator, and you can take the Tupperware full of my ass feelings out of me, because I don’t want to hide like an asshole, but this fridge is filled with shit, you gotta know, it’s crammed with shit. I sit on the couch all fucking day. I clean my room by stuffing the junk under my bed. I can’t even tell when I’m lonely. I’m really into playing skateboarding games on my computer and I’m afraid of getting close to people and I scratch and sniff my balls and I’m weird at making friends and I know you’re sick of this shit and you weren’t thinking about me at all when you were poking Nemo up there but I have to tell you, even if you’re vomiting in your mouth at listening to your asshole neighbor tell you these shitty things.”

His voice grew pitched, and he jammed his hands deeper into his pockets. His nails dug into his palms. When his speech had trailed off, he waited, tense, for John’s final decision. The feeling in his stomach continued to stir, but John didn’t say anything. Dave finally raised his head, pulling up his shades into his hair in his final act of courage, letting down his last defense. But John’s face had turned completely red, and he was swallowing rapidly, staring at Dave with a strange expression.

“You mean it?” John asked. “You really mean it when you say you like me? And I’m not just guilt-tripping you into—”

“Holy fucking shit, you’re not guilting anyone by yourself with that whole shtick! I like you, you shitty assfiend! You’re my best fucking friend and I want to go out with you.” Dave flushed an even deeper red, and he hunched his shoulders. 

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“You really mean—”

“Yeah, I mean it, get it through your thick skull! You don’t have to like me back that way, I know you were busy with your hot fish scientist boyfriend up north, and you’re over me faster than Sonic, but I’m being honest here, Jesus fucking Christ.” Dave, embarrassed more than ever, looked towards him with as menacing a glare he could summon in the thrashing of his heart. He had raised his voice more than he had meant, but he felt like he was wallowing in tension. John breathed through his teeth, staring at him with wide eyes, and then he put his satchel on the closed trunk of his car. 

“I went home after your speech to get you something,” he said in a strange voice, face still red. Dave, interested despite himself, peeked at the satchel. John carefully extracted out what looked like a snowglobe of a fish. It was, quite frankly, disappointing. Even more disappointing was how Dave stretched out his hands for the gift. He couldn’t help it. He loved gifts.

“Sucks ass,” he said cheerfully, shaking the snowglobe. “What’s that got to do with anything? Or my speech? I thought you missed it because you were going wee wee.”

“That reminded me of you, because your face gets all red in the snow.” John fidgeted in his suit, and then pulled out a thicket of postcards. “And these reminded me of you because you take pictures a lot.”

“These are shitty,” he said, eagerly flipping through the postcards with the snowglobe tucked into his elbow nook. But he was barraged under some boxes of chocolates, and he fumbled to hold those. 

“And you like sweet stuff, right? Because you always looked kinda happy when I made you something sweet. And these—they reminded me of you, because you like suits, but I’m bad at suits.” John pushed over the cuff links, continuing to dig in his bag. “And these—reminded me of you because you play with your phone a lot, and these, because you work with math, and this, this because you love watching TV all day, and this reminded me of you because you said I took too long at the aquarium and a meteor came, and this, because you said I was the star at piano, and this reminded me of you because you said you’d pick up my mail for me—”

“I only have two hands,” Dave said, trying to sidle his newfound presents onto the trunk. But he could tell, in the reflection of the side mirrors, that his face was flushed and had a strangely proud and pleased expression to them, holding onto the gifts. 

“I didn’t forget you, I wasn’t going to give you any of this stuff because they’re stupid and I tried to think a lot about fish but I didn’t think about you in the right amount, I thought about you too much, and everything there was reminding me of you and I didn’t forget you, I promise.” John’s hand, trembling, took out something else. “I got you a fake fish, Dave.”

“I don’t want a fake fish,” he said, taking the fake fish. “Shit. Don’t withhold presents from me, do you even have any brain cells in there? And don’t give me false hope here, don’t leave me hanging like I’m some dope wishing on a star for a high-five.”

“When I heard your speech, I thought, that I wasn’t being right to you. That I needed to do this. So I went back and got these for you, so you’d know, because of your speech.”

“That speech wasn’t for you.”

“No, I know, it was for your sister, but—”

“That speech was for me, you asshole. To tell you that I like you. Which I do. So, what’s it gonna be?” Dave turned his face towards him, jutting out his chin. “Because if you don’t like me, it’s cool as shit, dude.” And he could feel his heartbeats, resounding out loud and clear in his ears, the thick thump, John standing in front of him, the chill of the wind biting against his hands, the painful wait. 

“I got you presents,” John whispered, hand dropping, his eyes wide. It was enough.

Dave dumped the rest of his presents into the satchel where he could, and grabbed him by the tie to kiss him. 

He yanked him forward and kissed him soundly on the mouth, fingers tight over his tie. John smelled strongly of sea and tasted like salad dressing, and Dave grabbed him by the face to pull him closer. His fingers were rough over the smooth skin of his cheek, fingertips on the brim of his strong jaw, and he kissed him vindictively. John started in surprise, then slowly, he returned the kiss, arms wrapping around his waist and all the fake fish forgotten. John’s lips were chapped and he was infuriatingly strong, and Dave clutched onto him with all his wiry strength. John kissed him close-mouthed and sweet, head tilted, and Dave inhaled sharply through his nose. 

When Dave finally pulled away, he found himself pressed against the car with all of John’s weight. It was surprisingly pleasant and warm, and he wormed his arms down to hook over John’s waist. John pressed his forehead against Dave’s shoulder, and he seemed to be taking deep breaths in between his wheezy laughter. His body shook, reverberating in Dave and against the car.

“What’s so funny? I’m a great kisser. What’s so funny?” Dave poked him on the sides.

“Nothing, it’s just—that was way better than I could ever imagine.” John lifted his head to look at him, and Dave was suddenly aware that his face was lighting up like a Christmas light all over again. John had no semblance of shame on his face for what he said, just grinning brightly at him.

“Fuck, you mushy little bastard, I don’t want to look at your face after you say something disgusting like that.” Dave shoved his face away with the palm of his hand, and John laughed harder. Dave bristled in how his own emotions were churning, pleased, at the comment, but he’d never let John see it. Though, judging by the way John was laughing, he already knew.

“We should probably get back to Rose’s wedding.” John slid off him, but Dave didn’t feel the jab of disappointment for long. John hooked his pinky with his, already sliding the dropped presents back into the bag. Impatient and greedy, Dave took his entire hand and held it, watching John do all the work.

“Yeah, you need a breath mint.”

“Hey!” 

“Truth’s the truth.” Dave started walking off, but John pulled him back in a slow halt.

“You want to go out sometime?” John asked, staring at him with his lips still chapped, and now with all the reddened effects of the kiss. Dave looked at him affectionately, pushing his shades back over his face. 

“Nah, I’m good.” Dave walked again, this time chuckling to himself as he heard John’s scoff. He didn’t like to think of himself as particularly happy, but he knew he swung John’s hand a bit before he had to retreat to his seat and eye the fish-shaped present sitting on the gift table. 

\--

Dave did their laundry together, which was the next subsequent step in becoming a couple.

“The next step is going on a date, Dave.” John opened the balcony doors, pushing the couch to sit in front of it. “By the way, I peeked at your place. It’s looking good! Did you repaint the walls?”

“Nope.” Dave plopped down on the couch, stretching out his legs. The sunset was brimming over the tall buildings, spreading out an orange glow under the clear sky. Even though John’s plants were in the way, the streaming light still scattered across the floor. John didn’t seem to notice that Dave had completely refurnished his apartment, but he preferred it that way. Instead, he pulled John onto the couch and pressed against him, thighs touching, which he considered scandalous.

“Doing our laundry together is intimate,” Dave continued. “And don’t tell me you don’t think it’s sexy that I’m wearing your sweatshirt.”

“I think you’re really too lazy to find your own sloppy clothes, and you figured I wouldn’t notice if you spilled anything on mine.” John rested his chin on Dave’s head, contemplating. “Which is true.”

Dave’s own clothes were more convenient, but he’d chosen to wear John’s sweatshirt, just for the added touch. And by added touch, he meant for his own pleasure. There was something comforting about his clothes that he wouldn’t bring up quite yet. It felt like they were still trying to navigate through the grounds. John hugged him with grand abandon until he remembered they were dating, and then he withdrew shyly. And he detected something more gentle in John’s movements, where John would pass him over the plate and let their fingers touch and linger, or he would stroke back Dave’s hair with such an affectionate look. On Dave’s part, he still thought it’d take a while for him to completely accept that someone out there liked him that much. But he happily covered his doubts by kissing John whenever he felt like it.

“I want our first date to be perfect,” John said. “What do you think about—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Fine, finish.”

“Hot dog museum exhibits—”

“No. And whatever you say, even if you stumble on a good idea, is a no.” Dave finally lifted himself up, hesitantly tipping John’s face towards him with his fingers. Even though John seemed always accepting of his touches, Dave still kept his motions smooth and careful, trying not to disturb him.

“Why not?”

“Because I want to be the one who takes you to a nice date.” Dave finally felt the touch was too embarrassing, releasing him and slumping back on his seat. “It’ll be my surprise.”

“You’re doing too much for me, jeez.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you.” Dave regarded him out of the corner of his eye, the colors of the sunset starting to darken the shadows. John beamed with absolute happiness, stupid grin on his face, cheerful as he stared out into the city. Time and time again, Dave had to admit to himself that his own good looks were overshadowed by this behemoth. He had finally met someone whose looks could attract his stares for an equivalent time to his stares in the mirror. He stretched out his hand to play with his hair.

“Hey,” Dave said, slightly raspy. “I’m sorry about what I said to you. Back when we were first meeting, and I said a bunch of crap about how you were pity inviting me. I was wrong. You’re a dude who deserves all the friends he gets.”

“I was out of—”

“If you don’t accept my apology, I’m gonna eat all your cupcakes.”

“Fine, Dave. I accept.” John rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Good. So I was thinking, some time in the future, if you wanted to get a place with me. Somewhere nice. Whatever you want. We could do that.”

“I want—”

“No.”

“Dave!”

“Go ahead.”

“I want a room filled with paintings of you.”

“Yeah, sure. That actually sounds like a good idea.”

“Sweet.” John grinned, wrapping his arm around Dave’s shoulder to keep him warm. 

“I really mean it. Creepy painting room and all. If you ever wanted to get someplace else, we could go.” Dave withdrew his hands into the loose sleeves of the sweatshirt, rubbing his hands together. 

“If you want that, dude. I just like being with you. I mean, sometimes, I can’t even believe that you agreed to go out with me. That’s huge stuff, man. Huge.” John nodded to himself, fingers clenching around Dave’s shoulder reassuringly. It would probably be further down the line until Dave could reasonably suggest moving out to somewhere they could easily share a room without calling it a sleepover. But even the speculative thought shocked him. Apparently he could see John in his future, even when he couldn’t predict anything else. Dave rested more snugly against John, watching his jaw even in the dimming light.

“Hey,” Dave said. “Tell me that you like me.”

“I like you, jeez.”

“Say it again.”

“I like you.”

“Again.”

In response, John turned his head slightly and kissed him. Dave eagerly kissed back, tilting his head and adding more bite. But John was persistent in his slowness, the soft pushing against him and pulling back and pressing all the more against him. By the time John withdrew, Dave was more flustered than he’d liked, and settled firmly against John’s arm in punishment. 

“I’m happy,” John said softly.

“Stop that.” Dave shifted in his seat, grateful to the dawning darkness that hid his face. “Don’t make me fall in love with you even more.” 

At least John laughed, like it was a joke. Dave was grateful for that. He was grateful for the overwhelming feelings that felt like his heart was bursting with affection, that made him suddenly understand and appreciate and feel all the weight of John’s looks towards him. He appreciated them more for all the pain that lingered in his heart, the way he felt himself drawn to John. 

“You’re a complete jackass,” Dave murmured. “Loud and nosey and the fucking worst.”

“I like you, too, Dave.”

The city stilled to the quiet hum of cars, the sunset still spread out over the sky in slow waves. The plants on the balcony swayed in the gentle wind and the buildings before them became silhouettes. Inside the comfortable apartment, Dave stayed close to John. He felt ridiculous and vulnerable, but he allowed his head to rest on him, relaxing his shoulders. The tension flowed out of him, and he was left alone in strange peace, listening to a steady heartbeat with John curling an arm around his waist, sitting close together over the cusp of spring.


End file.
